Dynamic
by BrokenYetDreaming
Summary: Falling in love with the most temperamental werewolf can be complicated—that's something Ana Martin has accepted. It's not easy knowing that the guy who is supposedly your soulmate, yelled at you in front of the class, then disappears for two weeks, comes back, stares at you in the eyes, bounding both of you for eternity. She can't turn him down: she's his, and he's her's already.
1. SERIOUS ISSUES

**Dynamic**

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_Every girl has three guys in her life: the one she loves, the one she hates, and the one she can't live without. But in the end, they're all the same guy._

— Unknown

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**1. SERIOUS ISSUES**

**2. CAUGHT GAWKING**

**3. PERSONAL STALKER**

**4. DIFFERENT PERSON**

**5. DOOM AND GLOOM**

**6. NEW DIVIDE**

**7. THE EVENT**

**8. ODD SURPRISE**

**9. NEVER ENDING**

**10. RADIOACTIVE**

**11. DEFINING**

**12. SOLITUDE ATTITUDE**

**13. DYNAMIC**

**14. THE THREAT**

**15. TEMPERS RISING**

**16. MIRRORS**

**17. GOOD AND BAD**

**18. UNAVOIDABLE**

**19. POSSIBILITIES**

**20. RECKLESSNESS**

**21. ONE DIRECTION**

**22. THE ENDING**

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**1. SERIOUS ISSUES**

MONDAYS AND I just weren't friends. We didn't mix well, and I hated _all _of them, to be honest. I hated how they were the first day of the week, and how it abruptly ended my two-day vacation. I'm usually _always _cranky when I wake up on Mondays, tired from doing my homework last minute on Sunday nights. I knew I could avoid being tired and sleepy the next day if I just did my homework on time. But I'm _lazy _ass hell. I'd rather spend my two-day vacation on myself than on school related stuff. I have five days of school, and school doesn't need to take away time from my two "me" days.

An alarm always brings me out of my dreams in the mornings when I have to go to school. I always have to convince myself to open my eyes, and pull my blanket away from warm body. It's usually cold when I get out of bed, and my body yearns to go back to my soft, comforting bed, but then I remember school, and how pissed my parents would be if I didn't go to school.

My routines in the morning as dull; wake up my two brothers, get ready, feed the dog and make sure he has food and water until I get back from school, and _then _drag myself to school. I walk by myself to school, while my older brother takes my younger brother to Middle school. I refuse to ride with them. They're both cranky in the mornings like me. And cranky people get more cranky around each other.

I pull my sweater tighter, and walk quickly to school. I stare around like I usually do, not surprised at what greets my eyes because I always see it. It's fun to see something out of the ordinary, but then that gets ordinary, and the fun ends. La Push is interesting, if you're an optimistic person—not that I'm not, but yeah, I'm cranky right now, so I'm not optimistic right now.

La Push has been my home for the my whole life. I'm half-Quileute, as are my brothers. My mom's a full-blooded Quileute, but my dad's an outsider, a pale face. They both decided to stay here, in my mom's home, and create a life together. My dad's a chef in a restaurant in Forks, while my mom sells stuff from magazines and occasionally babysits—rather annoying kids she gets sometimes.

When my eyes meet La Push High school, I sigh in relief and see my breath turn to mist. I sigh again, just to see my breath turn to mist once more, before turning back to my dull school. It didn't look like a High School. It looked more like houses being jammed together. It was a Tribal school, but I preferred to call it High School. Made me feel better, somehow.

I knew everyone here—not personally, but by seeing their face and giving them a name. Like that girl with a mole beneath her mouth who happened to be applying make-up on; that's Elena Castle. Popular, loved by many. Hated by me.

Jacob likes her, therefore I hate her.

The name Jacob makes a head pop into my head, showing his cheerful face, and infectious wide grin. He was the most handsome boy ever—in my opinion, at least. He was this boy who would make you happy just by seeing him smile. I loved the way he never really got upset by many things, and how he was always helpful, and he was never mean or conceited—he had a sweet, caring, happy-go-lucky personality. He didn't rub off the fact that he was the son of the Chief. He was tall, with long, black hair, russet skin, and that friendly smile of his, placed on his always cheerful smile.

What wasn't there to love about him?

Through the many faces in the tiny parking lot, I try to spot his bright face. I couldn't help it. That was probably the first thing I always did when I arrived to school, and if I did find him, my day would seem to brighten just a little bit, and a smile would appear on my face. His smile was _that _infectious.

"Boo!" Somebody pushed me slightly, and I let out a startled yelp. It attracted many eyes to me, and I found myself blushing and looking away from their curious, surprised eyes.

Instead, I glared at my smiling friend, who seemed to be laughing through her eyes. "How many times have I told you to not do that?" I asked angrily, clenching my jaws. "I hate it when you do that. It's annoying, and definitely not funny."

"For me it is," she giggled.

"Shut up, Daiane." I mutter under my breath. "I'm going to do that someday to you—see how much _you _like it."

"I'd probably like it, grumpy." She poked my side, causing another startled yelp to escape my mouth, but not as loud as the other one.

"Stop that!" I hated it when people poked me, or sneaked behind me and tried to surprise me. I get jumpy.

She rolled her eyes. Daiane was a morning person, unlike me. "So," she began, looking through the crowd of kids, "looking for Jacob, huh." It wasn't a question. She knew my routine.

I nodded. The mere mentioning of his name made me feel a little happy. "Yep, like usual."

The bell rang, causing me to clench my teeth. I didn't find Jacob.

"Boo-hoo," Daiane mumbled, rolling her dark eyes when she saw my sulking face. "Life moves on."

"I know," I muttered. "Hey, where's Lidia?" I had just realized my other friend wasn't here.

Daiane sighed. "Beats me. She's the nerd—so she's probably inside school already." She sounded so sure, I believed her assumption.

"Yep," I said. "Let's go, I don't want Ms. Birdie getting mad at us again for being late to class," I grumbled, walking quickly towards the entrance of the school, already seeing the other kids outside marching inside.

Great. Just what I needed; pushes and shoves.

Throughout my day, there was no sign of Jacob. The day was outright upsetting; I was assigned a lot of homework that was due the next day. It was if all the teachers had agreed on giving us a lot of homework just for their amusement. What the heck did they do with the homework, anyways? Did they just throw it away without even glancing at it, and give random grades to the students, while giving their favorite students the best of grades?

"Aw, cheer up," Daiane said to me while we were walking towards our third period class. "You're too grumpy in the mornings, ya' know?"

Lidia nodded beside me, rolling her eyes. "I know. And you call _me_ grumpy."

"That's cause it's true—I'm only grumpy in the morning while you're always grumpy," I defended myself. "So, ha."

"Hey!" Daiane suddenly said, startling me. "Remember Jacob is moving to our third Period!"

I had forgotten. I smiled brightly. "Oh yeah! I bet you he only joined our History class because he wanted to see me," I said dreamily, grinning now. Both my friends giggled at my sudden change of mood.

We entered third Period, our cheerful teacher, Mr. Wilkins, was writing stuff on the board. I stared curiously at the board, but then Lidia elbowed me. I glared at her, but she only pointed to our right with a smile on her face, reminding me who had this class now.

And there he was, laughing with his two best friends; Quil Ateara, and Embry Call.

But I really didn't see Quil and Embry. My eyes were focused only on Jacob, who didn't seem to notice that I, Ana Martin, was gawking at him, like I always do. It was something I couldn't help from doing. It was his fault my eyes were always glued to him when we were in the same place. It was his fault he was so nice and kind, and cute.

I had been too busy in staring at Jacob, that I hadn't noticed I was blocking the path for people to pass by to their seats. It wasn't until one, icy voice behind me made me look away from Jacob, and stare into the owner's eyes. My eyes met two pairs of—surprisingly—hazel eyes. I was momentarily shocked, staring into the eyes, before the guy spoke once more in a rude tone.

"Get out of the way, will ya'?" the boy grumbled, glaring down at me. It took me a moment to realize Paul Lahote was talking to me. He seemed mad, which was stupid because. . . because there's no reason to be mad! "Stop staring at your little boyfriend, _Jacob_," he sneered.

My face was blazing, and I felt my eyes widen, and my mouth fall open in embarrassment. "H—he's not m—my boyfriend!" I stammered out, looking away from Paul. Through the humiliation—knowing almost everyone was staring at us know—anger began to bubble inside of me. My fist clenched and I found myself glaring at Paul, "Shut up."

Paul smirked. "I see you have a back bone," he said dully. "Good for you."

"I see you have some serious issues," I retorted back. "You freaking idiot!"

The smirk on Paul's face was wiped out. A scowl replaced it, and his glare intensified. "I won't bother talking to someone like. . . _you_," he spat. He turned away from me, and began to walk around the class room, the long way to his seat.

I was left speechless.

When he had said "you", he said it as though I wasn't even worth his time. It stung a little, and I could feel my throat start to tighten. But I wouldn't show him how much he'd affected me. He's an idiot, anyways. My eyes stung, but I willed myself to be brave. Be tough. Be cool.

"You okay?" Lidia asked, suddenly beside me.

All I could do was nod, not trusting my voice.

My eyes flickered up to Mr. Wilkins. He was staring at Paul with a disappointed face, and sighed loudly. "That's not how you treat a lady, Paul. I think you need to apologize."

I groaned internally.

"Nope, I don't think so," Paul replied back, sounding like he was the boss, when he wasn't.

"If you don't, Mr. Lahote, then you will be given detention for the rest of the week—I've let other encounters of your's with other students slide pass, but not this one. You treated Miss Martin rather rudely, and I can't accept this in my class. Apologize now, Mr. Lahote, and if you don't, it will be _two _weeks of detention."

"Yeah, apologize Paul," Jacob said, sounding upset. I found myself looking up, my heart racing quickly. Was he standing up for me, or something?

Jacob was staring at Paul, with narrowed eyes. He had his back to me, but the thought was all that counted, wasn't it?

Sighing, I stared at Paul, too, and saw him thinking hard, his forehead creasing. "Well," he said, "I guess I have no options, do I? Not when _Miss Martin_'s boyfriend is telling me to?" he sneered, his eyes flickering to Jacob, then to me.

I glared back at him, my face turning hot again.

Then Jacob spoke. "She's not my girlfriend, Paul. She's just a friend," he explained, and then he twisted his body to stare at me, a brief smile was directed at me. Then he turned back around.

I was a friend.

A freaking friend.

At least that should satisfy me, no? We don't even talk for crap's sake! At least he called me his friend, instead of saying _She's just a girl in class. _I think _that _would have stung a lot.

"_Miss Martin,_" Paul said, in a taunting tone, "I'm sorry. There, I said it."

Mr. Wilkins sighed loudly, and nodded. "Well, well, that's that, I see. Now, class, sit up, please. We will be changing seats today, since Mr. Black has joined this class. I don't want him sitting next to his friends; I think he should get to know different people. . ." he trailed off in a musing tone. "Anyways," he chuckled, "in the board, I have written down the new seating assignment. I expect _ all of you_ to behave mature."

I held my breath as my eyes flickered to the board, looking for my name. My heart nearly died from both a freaking amazing thing, and for another freaking this-can't-be-happening-thing—I guess the amazing thing fell into that category too.

Jacob Black sat next to me.

_YES!_

And so did Paul Lahote.

_NO!_

I clenched my jaws and raised my hand. Why talk over the many grumbles of my fellow class mates? It was way better to raise my hand high in the air, and ask Mr. Wilkins if I can switch seats. . . even if it meant sacrificing my seat with Jacob. I just _couldn't _accept the fact that I was assigned to sit next to such an arrogant jerk.

But Mr. Wilkins spoke over the chatter of the crowd in one of his rare, strict tones. "No, I will _not _be changing seats. Act mature, please."

That caused my hand to come down, and a scowl to form on my lips.

I was one of the few people standing. I quickly hurried to my seat, avoiding anyone's eye. I held my breath when I reached Paul's, Jacob's, and I's table, and pushed the chair out so I could sit in the middle—Paul was to my left, and Jacob was to my right. Jacob shot me a kind smile, which made this all a little worse. I smiled back at him, starting to get happy.

"Great, just what I needed," Paul grumbled to himself.

Throughout the period, I couldn't help myself from staring at Jacob from the corner of my eyes. I sometimes caught Lidia's or Daiane's eyes, and they would show me the thumbs up, before turning back to face the class and paying attention to the lesson. I guess I should prepare myself to fail this class; Jacob was going to make it difficult to pay attention, now that he was sitting right next to me.

The bell rang, startling me. I bent down to pick up my pencil that I had dropped when I had jumped in surprise. My arm brushed against Paul's hot arm, and I flinched away from it. Paul must have saw me doing this, because he was suddenly shaking—probably from rage.

"Nobody said you had to brush against my arm!" he yelled, still shaking. The amount of anger that laced his voice made me flinch back, and bump against somebody—_Jacob._

"Don't talk to her like that!" Jacob defended me. I didn't find myself smiling, too terrified to say anything at the sight of Paul's eyes. He had a wild look to them.

His shaking began to worsen.

Was he having a seizure? I found myself worrying, my brows furrowing.

And then Jared Cameron burst into the class room, making everyone turn to him. He wasn't paying attention to anyone else, but Paul, a somber look in his eyes made me confused. He marched right over to Paul, grabbed him by the arm, and started pull him away.

"C'mon Paul," he muttered quietly. "Let's go."

"Don't tell me what to do!" he bellowed, his shaking worsening more.

I felt like screaming. Something was wrong with him. But what? He was having a freaking _seizure _and no one was doing anything to help him; heck, even I wasn't. I was beyond terrified, and I found myself wondering if Paul was going to explode on me, since his eyes found mine, and they were glaring at me.

"Bye," he spat, and finally began to let Jared Cameron lead him out of the class.

No one spoke after their departure. Not even Mr. Wilkins.

Finally, he said, "Now class," he began shakily, "go to your next class. Quickly." Then he turned to the classroom phone, and began to dial numbers quickly.

Everyone began to file out of class, too stunned that no one uttered a word.

I hadn't noticed I had been shaking until Jacob pointed it out. I looked at him, and for the first time ever, I found myself not dazed by him talking to me. I only nodded mutely, got my stuff, and began to walk away. Lidia and Daiane met me on my way to the door, and we were all quiet. I think they sensed that I didn't want to talk—either way, I was thankful. I didn't trust my voice.

Paul's angry yells were echoing inside my head, and my eyes stung. Does he hate me? But what had I done?

"He's an idiot, Ana," Daiane said softly. "Ignore him."

Lidia nodded beside me. "Yeah, I don't know what's his problem."

For the rest of the day, my eyes weren't looking for Jacob. That was rather shocking, and it surprised even _me._ No, I was looking for someone else; someone with serious issues. I looked for him in the halls, in the cafeteria, and after school.

But Paul Lahote was nowhere to be seen, and it _worried _me.

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**A/N: I hope you liked the first chapter of _Dynamic _! I think it went well, well, you know, except for Paul being a complete jerk :D _  
_**

**Check out my other stories (_Platonum—_Jacob/OC &_ Euphoria_—Leah/OC _)_! Also, before I forget; I don't own Twilight. The owner of Twilight is Stephenie Meyer ;P**

**By the way, it's my birthday today. It would mean a lot if I can get reviews! :D**

**REVIEW!**


	2. CAUGHT GAWKING

**2. CAUGHT GAWKING**

"ANA, _PLEASE _TELL us what really happened," Daiane begged me, pulling my arm.

I frowned, and shook my head. "I already told you; I accidentally brushed my arm against his, flinched away from it because—you should have felt it!—it was scorching hot," I said quickly, eyes widening as I spoke more and more. "And then he got mad at me, and ya' know—yelled at me, and so, so. . ." I trailed off with a sigh, fidgeting under their gazes. They didn't believe that the cause of Paul's outburst was because I flinched away from his arm when I touched it, by accident.

Lidia hummed beside me, thinking. "Well, that _was _rude."

"Are you siding with him?" I asked hotly, turning my head to narrow my eyes at her. "Because _that's _rude, for me, at least." I felt a tad hurt that one of my best friends wasn't siding with me. After all, wasn't it a best friend's job to side with their best friend?

She frowned. "No, I'm not siding with anyone, really. Because let's face it: _you_ would have gotten angry or insulted if Paul'd brushed his arm against your's, and then flinched away from it as if though it were a disease."

I opened my mouth to protest, but Daiane spoke before me.

"We saw your face, Ana." she murmured quietly. "We wanted to see how it was going with Jacob, but we saw you pull away from Paul's arm—your face was. . . how can I explain it for you so you can see how _insulting _looking it was, that made Paul a bit angry?"

I snorted. A _bit _angry?

Daiane paused, and made a face. She screwed up her nose, and widened her eyes. Her mouth fell open, and stared wide-eyed at me, as though something was horribly wrong.

No, that's not how I looked. They're exaggerating it.

Lidia sighed loudly, eyeing my face. "That _was _how you looked, Ana. Daiane's not exaggerating anything."

A frown tugged down my lips, and I flushed. "Oh," I said quietly. "_Oh_."

"Yeah," they both said together, nodding sympathetically.

So maybe I did deserve getting yelled at. I knew that if someone I had gotten into a fight with, like Paul for example, had looked at me like that. . . I would have felt insulted and hurt. My mind jumped to other, surprising thoughts: Had Paul felt hurt? Better yet: Had _I _hurt Paul?

Now was not the time to feel sorry for myself.

"Either way," Daiane added in quickly, "that didn't give him any right to scream at you!" She was frowning now, staring at me and then at Lidia, who was nodding along to what she had just said.

"Yeah," Lidia agreed. "That jerk shouldn't have screamed at you—especially in front of everyone."

I felt a rush of gratitude for both of my best friends. A slow, small smile made it's way to my lips, making the frown disappear. "Thanks," I murmured, staring at the ground as I spoke. "Glad to know both of you at least side with me. . . sort of," I said, shooting Lidia a mocking glare. She merely grinned at me.

We continued to walk, none of us speaking. I sighed loudly, annoyed with the silence. I knew they had more stuff to say.

"What's on your minds?" I finally asked both of them, my eye twitching. "I mean, just spit it out."

Both of my friends seemed to hesitate, before Daiane spoke first. "Well, you know, I think both me and Lidia are both wondering whether," she exhaled loudly, pausing. Then she continued, in a rush now, "What are you going to do tomorrow, you know, with Paul?"

To be honest, I hadn't even thought of that. I was trying not to think about Paul or anything about him. If I did, I would just end up getting upset, even though I _had _insulted him today, I was angry and humiliated. My friends were right; he had no right to scream at me. It was idiotic, and useless. I bet he did it on purpose._  
_

My jaws clenched at the thought of this, and any remorse I felt earlier on, went away.

"Nothing," I said shortly, trying to calm myself. "I won't let him know how upset he made me," I clarified.

"That'll probably be the most mature choice," Lidia murmured, nodding along.

Although Daiane had other thoughts. "No, I think you should—I don't know, this is just me saying—probably get him in trouble?" She looked at both Lidia's and I's incredulous stares. "What?" she asked defensively. "He shouldn't have yelled at you!"

I was still looking at her as though she'd grown a second head.

"What?" she asked in a high-pitched voice, looking away from me. She must've felt self-conscious.

"You—goody, goody Daiane—suggest I get someone in trouble?"

She giggled suddenly. "Yep."

We walked in comfortable silence now, staring at our usual, boring surroundings. I inhaled loudly, closing my eyes and smelling the scent of the woods, happy that I didn't smell any gas and such. That was the good part of living near woods: you smell mother nature. Don't get me wrong, I'm not one of those "save mother Earth" people who ties themselves onto trees, but I _hate _it when people throw stuff on the floor.

I absolutely hated it with a passion.

"Well, bye," I said, waving at my friends. Lucky them, they're next door neighbors, while I live a few minutes away.

They chuckled at my grumpy face, and stuck their tongues out.

I ignored their, "Bye-bye Looser" comments, and instead, I kept on walking.

No one was home when I arrived home, which surprised me. I was always used to having my mom at the house, cooking something. But I was oddly surprised to not finding her here.

"Must be gossiping," I mumbled to myself with a roll of my eyes. "Typical her."

When I walked into my bedroom, I was met with the sight of a messy bed. I shrugged, smiling sheepishly to myself. I never really bothered to clean anything in the mornings. I was always in a rush to get to school in time. Getting early to clean up wasn't even popping into my head. No way was I waking up earlier than six-fourty in the morning.

Instead of cleaning up the mess, I plopped myself into bed, and threw my backpack down beside it. I exhaled loudly when my head collided with my pillow, and smiled in content. I was dead tired, and rather sleepy. But apparently, I couldn't go to sleep—my mind was being stubborn. It wanted to keep thinking.

Now that I was alone, without anyone to bother me, I felt unneeded tears begin to bubble in my eyes.

I scowled at myself and wiped them away harshly, glaring up at the ceiling.

Paul's fierce, wild eyes kept on appearing on my mind, chilling me. I felt a rush of fear overwhelm me, and another shudder pass through my body. I chocked back a sob, and squeezed my eyes shut.

I won't cry. Not because of him. Not because of Paul.

Even with that in mind, the traitor tears kept on falling, and in the end, I let them. Better now when I'm alone, than later when my family is here.

I was afraid of Paul.

The realization left me breathless, and surprised. I was afraid of that wild stare, of the trembling of his body. . . of _him._

Another part of me felt absolute anger.

I was angry that he made me feel this way; hopeless, weak. I usually didn't cry, only when I was really angry, like now. The tears weren't of fear, but of suppressed anger—or so I tell myself.

"Stop," I commanded myself weakly. I felt the flow of the tears slow its pace, but they kept on falling.

Happy thoughts, I told myself weakly. Happy faces. . .

Jacob's face wasn't helping at all.

In fact, it made it much worse. I felt an inexplicable dread at the sight of his face, and my heart gave a weak, startled jump. Something's changed, I knew that for a fact, but what exactly? What was wrong?

The sound of a door slamming startled me. I bolted up from the bed, a yelp escaping my face. That was a mistake—now whoever just came in, will surely come and check on me. I hastily wiped away the tears, and got out of bed, jumping forward to stand in front of the mirror. Unsurprisingly, my eyes were red and puffy—they made the greeness stand out a bit.

My dark hair was messy. I quickly grabbed a comb, and started to comb through it. But today didn't happen to be my day. My hair was absolutely tangled.

"Great," I muttered angrily, and yanked hard. "Ow!"

"Ana?" my mom's worried voice was just outside my door.

My eyes widened. "I'm fine! Just hit my toe!"

Good. Good cover story. Maybe I was crying because my toe hurt. . .

There was a pause, and then my door was opening. My mom's head popped in, and she accessed my face. "Honey. . . you sure that's all? Why were you crying?"

I cursed at how observant she was.

"It's nothing." I waved my hand in the air in a dismissive matter. "Nothing at all."

"Are you sure?"

I nodded casually—at least I hoped it seemed so.

"Are you sure nothing happened in school?"

The color in my face drained. I closed my eyes, and inhaled deeply. "Of course," I whispered lowly, so as for her not to hear. "Of course."

News about today's little incident was already spreading across La Push. I don't know why I was so surprised: my mom was bound to find out, with what La Push's residents not being able to keep their mouths zipped.

"Well?" she asked, opening the door wider to let herself in. She sat down on my bed—making a face while doing so, she hated messes—and patted the spot next to her. "Sit," she ordered softly. "C'mon Ana."

"Mom," I whined. "It's _nothing_."

"No. It _was _something."

I glared at her. "The kid just yelled at me, okay?"

She sighed. "Ana," she said slowly, watching my face closely. "Tell me e_verything._"

Can anyone blame me if I was angry? I didn't want to talk to anyone, not even my own mom. Maybe later, but now was not the correct time. I glared down at the floor, and sat down next to her, crossing my arms. "Why?" I snapped, loosing my temper. "So you can go and tell everyone the _juicy details—_" the words tumbled out of my mouth. But what I was saying came to me, and I abruptly stopped.

See, I had this thing called word vomit. Worst sickness ever. It sticks to you _forever. _It's incurable.

My mom was quiet for once.

I squirmed in the silence. Usually, when my mom is around, someone always bound to be talking. It unnerved me how quiet she was, and I wasn't brave enough to take a glimpse at her face. Finally, though, after a long pause, I dared myself to look: my mom wasn't exactly angry, but she seemed hurt, and almost. . . well, a little angry.

"Well," she said quietly, staring down at the floor. She bit on her lower lip. "I guess you don't want to talk about it."

I swallowed loudly. "N—no," I stammered, feeling hideous all of a sudden. "I don't."

She nodded, still quiet, and got up from my bed. She began to walk out, but before she left, she turned to look at me, and said in a still, quiet voice, "Order pizza, will you? I don't feel like cooking." Then she left, closing the door behind her.

A couple of minutes ticked by, and I sat on the same spot where my mom had ordered me to be, staring at the door. I felt so hideous! Dirty! Bitter!

Why had I said that?

I slammed my fist onto my springy bed, releasing some anger. It didn't help, at all. Heck, hitting something to lessen the anger wasn't really a good method for me. It never worked.

"He's gonna pay," I told myself shakily, feeling the threat being empty. "It's all _his _fault." I clenched my jaws and nodded. Yep, it was Paul's fault all right.

No one spoke at dinner. Not my dad, not my mom, not even my brothers. It was down right uncomfortable, and I had this odd feeling that they kept on looking at me—I kept my eyes glued down on the pizza in front of me—but when I looked up, they were looking somewhere else. I felt sick to the pit of my stomach, no doubt did they know I had hurt mom's feelings.

I excused myself to bed early, and took a shower.

Once in my bed, with the lights out, I stared once more up into the now dark ceiling. I glared at the darkness, wanting to blame someone for my misfortune, but knowing it was all _me._ I was the one to blame. But I was stubborn, and I refused to accept that I had done something wrong. I didn't like the feeling.

It wasn't until I was finally going to sleep, did my normal thoughts come back. I had forgotten something very important: I had forgotten to do my damn homework.

Groaning, I pondered on whether I should stand up and do it, or wake up early in the morning. I figured I needed a distraction right now—plus, I don't think I'd be willing to wake up at six. So with that in mind, I got out of my comfortable bed, and did my homework. It was a great distraction from Paul Lahote; his eyes didn't plague my thoughts.

But they _did _haunt my dreams.

I got little sleep that night.

When morning finally came, and it was time to wake up, I gladly did so—heck, I was so happy, I wasn't even grumpy at being up early.

And, as I walked to school, I kept on telling myself: "You can do it, Ana. Be brave. Be a wolf."

The whole day, I kept my head posed up, high in the air. Lidia and Daiane seemed proud of me, and they too, walked with their heads posed up in the air, while keeping a look out for Paul Lahote. We never spotted him in the halls. . . And he didn't come to Third Period.

A part of me was pleased with this. "He's scared," I said arrogantly, chucking in relief. "That's why he didn't come."

Lidia agreed, smiling. "Yep. You tough, Ana!"

Daiane grinned foolishly. "Come at me bro!" She balled her fist, and we laughed.

Third Period was good as can be, with Jacob sitting down next to me.

For the rest of the day—like yesterday—I kept my eyes looking out for Paul. But he was nowhere to be seen. And like yesterday, the worry began to bubble in my chest, and I found myself wondering where he was. Then I punished myself by pinching my arm: I shouldn't care.

At home, my mom and I didn't talk much. We just exchanged a few words, but that was simply all.

There was no sign of Paul Lahote for the rest of the week. It both pleased and worried me. I soon found the fear disappearing, being replaced with ignorance; I shouldn't be scared of Paul. Let him come. . . I don't care.

Jacob and I were talking. It made me happy, of course, but something was. . . odd. I couldn't quite place my fingers on it. I felt weird.

It's been two weeks with no sign of Paul nor Jared—they must have gone to a trip, I told myself easily, and continued on with my day, thinking about Jacob's _warm, friendly brown eyes._

I was now giggling with Lidia and Daiane in front of the school. It was morning, and a Monday; but I was happy because Jacob had waved at me about a few minutes ago. That was the cause of our untamed giggles.

The bell, unfortunately, rang. I scowled, but a smile quickly replaced it.

"Somebody's happy," Daiane remarked with a smile of her own. "Good for you."

"Wow, what a miracle," Lidia faked an awed voice.

I rolled my eyes dramatically. "Oh geez. I think I deserve two dollars from each of you, since I'm smiling, no?"

"Hell no!" Daiane said, pushing me. "Get your own money!"

"Yeah, keep away from mine." Lidia nodded, sticking her tongue out.

"Fine. Such best friends you are," I grumbled jokingly.

"But you still love us," Daiane said quickly, smiling in a teasing way. "I love you!"

I gagged. "Don't say that, please."

Lidia laughed. "What? I _love you_ too, Ana!"

"C'mon," I groaned, frowning. They both knew I hated the "L" word. I don't know what was the cause of it; I hated saying it to friends, but with family it was. . . okay, I guess.

We began to push and shove our way through the hall. I was now grumpy—it seemed as though something was stopping the crowd. Something in the back of my mind sparked in rememberence—something so similar to this, but I couldn't quite remember.

"Some new kid, I think," Lidia mumbled to us, even though we hadn't said anything.

"Probably." Daiane nodded.

I, though, disagreed. "We would have known before, though." I pointed out. "With what gossip flying around quickly here, in La Push." I said bitterly.

"True," they both agreed quietly, frowning now.

The bell rang.

"Great," I muttered.

The crowd began to disappear slowly, and it was only a few of us now standing on the halls. Lucky Lidia had her class in front of the school, while Daiane had her's in the middle of the school, while I, the unfortunate girl, had it all the way in the back. Just my luck.

I told my two friends bye, and continued to walk quickly. I didn't want to go to the Office. Mrs. Quinn was our Office lady, very nice, but very slow. She would take an hour—literally—just to sign up a tardy slip.

I kept my eyes on the floor when I passed a group of emo kids, and heard them make comments. I felt my face heat up as I quickened my pace. I wasn't even looking where I was going anymore—I was desperate to get away from them.

And then I hit a hot brick wall, I think.

The collision knocked the breath out of my lungs, and I felt myself falling onto the ground, my poor butt made an awful contact with the hard floor. I whimpered, "Ow," and began to gather my scattered pencils from the floor, blushing.

"Why don't you watch were you're walking?" a familiar, yet unfamiliar, voice spat angrily.

I froze.

No, no, no. Not him!

Slowly, almost cautiously, my eyes began to travel up his body. I was surprised to find him wearing only shorts in this cold weather, and a tights shirt that tightened around his eight-pack. My eyes widened when I noticed this; had he grown in the past two weeks? Impossible. He seems six feet something now!

And then my eyes looked around his hard, firm face; he seemed. . . handsome, now, somehow.

"Like what you see—" as he spoke, my eyes made contact with Paul Lahote's hazel one's, and he shut up.

I felt as though something intensely happy was pouring all over my body. My whole world spun in circles, but somehow, Paul seemed to be the only stable thing that I could hang on through the dizziness. I stared, open mouthed, at him, feeling like the most happiest girl in the world. I felt my hurt burst into a million pieces, and being thrown over to Paul. Everything shifted—everything changed.

I felt almost as if I had been. . . _bound_. But to what? To Paul? Nonsense!

Even then. . . a piece of me had been torn out from me, and given to. . . _him_. And also, even more weird, I felt like I had been given something wonderful. But _what_?

"Yo, Paul!" someone yelled, breaking both Paul's and I's staring contest.

With a blazing face, I looked away. I stared at Jared Cameron, who had a look of surprise on his face. He was eyeing me, with a raised eyebrow, before he began to chuckle.

"Congrats Paul!" he yelled merrily, and patted him on the shoulder.

My eyes turned to stare at Paul, who was still staring at me. I shifted uneasily, but I was surprised: his eyes were _different_. They were still hazel, but they were staring at me as though. . . I was the most wonderful being in the world. I was a bit flattered, but at the same time I felt suspicious. Was he pulling a prank?

"Hey," Jared nodded to me, smiling. "I'm Jared Cameron."

All I said was, "Ana," in a curt tone, still a little breathless.

"Oh," Jared said quietly.

Then, as if by me speaking, Paul snapped out of his little trance. He smiled widely, and to me it seemed abnormal to have it on his face. "Hey. . ." Then his face fell. "Aww crap." He narrowed his eyes on me, his eyes going up and down, as if checking me out.

My brows furrowed. "Hello," I said to him, trying to keep my voice even and mature, "Paul." I clenched my teeth afterwards because when I said his name, a shiver ran down my spine.

He smiled widely again. "Ana, was it?"

Another damn shiver ran down my spine when he said my name.

I didn't move my head. Psh, not my fault he wasn't paying attention.

Jared nodded his head slowly from beside Paul. Paul nodded in understanding, and then his eyes widened in realization.

"Oh crap, oh crap. . ." He exhaled loudly, and began to tremble.

I panicked right about then. "Not another damn seizure!" Then I paused, staring at Paul with wide eyes. "How the hell are you even alive, anyways?" I blurted out.

Finally, a smirk appeared, and the trembling ceased. "I guess I'm superman."

"I don't like superman," I blurted out once more. Why wasn't I walking away. . .?

"Batman?"

I shook my head.

"Iron Man?"

Another shake of my head.

"Hulk?" Now he was smirking even more arrogantly, and puffed out his chest.

"It's Spiderman," I finally said in a duh tone, not even knowing why I was telling him this.

"Cool." He nodded casually.

"Yep," I said shortly. "I got to go."

"Aww," he whined. "Just ditch with me!" Then he wagged his eyebrows suggestively.

I made a disgusted face. "Unlike you, I care about my future."

Paul only shrugged. "Eh, been told that, been told this."

I began to walk away, and I felt him fall into step with me. He told Jared, "I'll see you at lunch!"

I grounded my teeth. "Just leave me alone," I almost begged. Though a part of me felt happy. No, no I must be sick. . .

"I wish I could," he replied lazily. "But I'm stuck."

"Stuck where, exactly?" I asked, frowning.

"Can't tell ya' that."

"Why not?"

"Because," he said slowly, stopping when his hot arm brushed against mine. Once again, I was shocked—because sparks flew across our skins. Not literally, but it felt so! "Because I can't even believe it myself, either." He was angry again, and the trembling began.

I was tired of this. "Will you just friggin stop?" I asked loudly.

He glared at me finally. "Stop what?" he asked through clenched teeth.

"Stop shaking! Do you know how annoying it is, not knowing whether you're faking it or not?"

"Shut up," he barked back, face twisting into that of a furious face.

I flinched.

This, it seemed, triggered something in that tiny little head of his—maybe he realized that. . . I could beat him up?—and his shaking ceased, and his face fell. He exhaled loudly, shaking his head.

"I gotta go," he said quietly, almost rudely. "Bye."

"Um," I said, still in shock. "Okay?"

Paul Lahote had finally come back—that one sentence plagued my thoughts. Now, instead of his wild hazel eyes, I got his soft hazel eyes in my head. It was, I'll admit, a bit relaxing to me.

When third period arrived, I walked into the class, Lidia, Daiane, and I had our heads stuck in the air, and walked with purpose. We walked past our joking classmates, and to their seat—lucky them, they sat together with another girl. They sat down, while I stood up. But I felt weird. And when I felt weird, I usually felt self-conscious, and twitchy.

"So," Lidia began quietly, exchanging glances with Daiane, "Paul came back."

"I know." I said coolly.

Both looked shocked.

Daiane frowned. "Oh. Did he scream at you?"

"We would have heard, Daiane," Lidia reasoned with a roll of her eyes.

I nodded. "No. . . he just, sort of, bothered me."

"_Bothered _you?" they asked disbelieving.

Again, I nodded.

"Well," I said uneasily. "I have to go to my seat."

My eyes shifted back, to where my desk with Paul and Jacob was at, and I froze. Paul was gawking at me, watching my every move like a hawk. He smirked at me when he met my eyes, and winked. He gestured to the empty seat beside Jacob, and himself—before glaring at Jacob. I stiffened.

"Ugh," I groaned. "Goodbye. Torture will begin."

My friends merely giggled at my reluctance to sit beside Paul, and _Jacob_.

I sat down, and stared pointedly at the front of the class.

"Hello." Paul began arrogantly, smirking down at me. "How are you doing, you fine lady?"

I nearly chocked. "_What_?"

Jacob heard too, and was staring at Paul as if he had sprouted a second head.

"How was your day?" he asked distractedly, glaring at Jacob now. I shifted my body to block Jacob from Paul's eyesight. He noticed, since his eyes narrowed into slits. "Oh right," he began bitterly, "you have a boyfriend."

"He's not my boyfriend," I blurted out, glaring at him.

"Sure," he said coolly, and proceeded to ignore me.

I really had no idea why it annoyed the heck out of me that he wasn't paying attention to me.

Clenching my teeth, I looked away from him.

During the lesson Mr. Wilkins was giving, I felt rather uncomfortable. _Really _uncomfortable, and I felt as though the reason of my discomfort, happened to be because of a certain boy sitting to my left.

So I cast a weary glance over at Paul out of the corner of my eyes, immediately looking away when I saw he was fully-out staring at me. My face blazed under his gaze, and I felt my head turn fully around, to stare back at him—it was an unconscious move of my own, honestly! I suddenly felt _good. Happy. _And to be truthful. . . it was scaring me.

"Miss Martin?" Mr. Wilkins called on me very loudly, sounding very much amused.

I looked up, blushing, and noticed everyone staring at me. "Um, yeah?"

"Can you answer my question?"

Damn. I wasn't paying attention. "Yep." Luck be with me. . .

"What is the formula for completing a perfect square?"

I _knew _that! I studied that in eigth grade. I know that. . . yet, it wasn't coming to me. I don't even know why they teach us this crap; it's not as if someone in the real world will ask me, "Well, Ana, what is the formula of a perfect square?"

So usually some things the teachers teach go in, and then out of my brain.

My mouth opened and closed several times, and my face needed to be extinguished. "No," I said quietly, looking down. Then I saw it; it was messy, but I could definitely read the sloppy writing. I read the answer, and looked up, still not feeling confident. "Um, _x _equals negative _b _plus or minus, with the square root of. . ." I squinted my eyes on the writing, "_b _squared, minus four, _a _and _c, _divided by two _a_."

Peering up hopefully at Mr. Wilkins, not sure if the answer was alright, I said, "Is that it?"

He smiled. "Certainly, Miss Martin. Good job." He turned to the class, "Now kids, study over what we just learned. I'm going to give you a test tomorrow. . ." His voice became distant as I turned to look open-mouthed at a smirking Paul.

"_You_?" I asked disbelieving.

Paul continued to smirk. "Yep."

"But—how—I mean—" I broke off, still stunned. He knew the answer. My God, I've gone even stupider.

"Hey," he said, "I _do _care about my future." He winked, and then wouldn't look away. Not even when Mr. Wilkins said to work on our homework because we had extra time.

When lunch arrived, I sprang up from my seat, ignoring—unwillingly—Jacob's friendly talk, and walking quickly towards the door. I felt Paul's eyes burn my back as I walked, even when my friends joined me. We walked to the cafeteria and ordered our food, before sitting down in one of the crowded lunch tables. I really wasn't hungry; the food at this school was awful.

"He was staring at you!" Daiane finally giggled. "Aww!"

Lidia nodded, smiling. "Yep. Don't pretend you aren't listening to us, Ana."

I sighed loudly, scowling. "He's annoying."

Daiane sighed dreamily. "If I had been stared at like he'd been staring at you. . ." she trailed off, still smiling, "I'd be so happy!"

I felt a twinge of annoyance. "Trust me," I said shortly, blushing, "you wouldn't."

"Where is he, by the way?" Lidia wondered out loud.

I looked up, curious too, wanting to examine Paul's change—I didn't need to look around much, because Paul was sitting directly on my point of view. I felt my face go ablaze again because he was out right _gawking _at me, eyes wide, smiling widely at me. I quickly looked away from his hazel eyes, not liking at all that I felt like goo. I shouldn't feel this way.

Just because he had been caught gawking at me.

Sure, I felt happy, but just because he was giving me attention? What was so good about me? I didn't look as good as Elena Castle; the beauty queen of the school he'd once dated. So why was he _still _ gawking at me? Everytime I peeked looks up at him, he was still staring rather funnily at me.

Well, at least I knew I wasn't an alien to boys.

* * *

**A/N: Damn, I had trouble writing the beginning for chapter two, hahha :P But hopefully, you all liked it? And thank you all for the reviews! They made me _so _ happy! Thank you, forreals! :D Also, whew, Ana had a weak moment in this chapter o.O **

**Sorry, I was actually going to update this yesterday, but it was too late. So I updated now, on a Monday. Ughh, lol.**

**By the way, I have a (what's it called?), schedule for updating _Dynamic._ The schedule is this: I will be updating every Saturday, and if not on Saturday, then on Sunday, and if not on Sunday, then on Monday. Sound good? I think it's fine. You'll all be getting a weekly update :D**

**Anyways, I do hope you liked chapter 2. CAUGHT GAWKING! Tell me what you thought in a review, please :)**

**P.S. Any mistakes will be corrected soon, I just wanted to get this out early :P**

**REVIEW!**


	3. PERSONAL STALKER

**3. PERSONAL STALKER**

HAZEL BROWN EYES kept on meeting mine throughout the rest of the day, and dang, it was _unnerving_. Don't get me wrong; I was completely flustered whenever I met Paul's eyes in the hall's—it was almost as if he was trying to catch my eyes. Even then, I was beginning to get a bit creeped out because sometimes when we stared at each other in the halls, Paul would stop, stand in the middle of the hall, and smile weirdly, giving me this. . . look that I'll admit, was flattering.

Yet, I wished he'd stop.

Everyone was beginning to notice Paul's and I's staring contest in the halls. Daiane nor Lidia were helping at all. In fact, I believe they were the ones who started the rumor that me and Paul had something going on. Of course I wasn't. I was a faithful Team Jacob lover.

In the future, I will be Ana Black. Not Ana. . . _Lahote_.

I shuddered.

"Aw, c'mon," Daiane whined from beside me as we walked towards the Girl's locker rooms, "you're lying. You can't be _creeped _out that Paul is staring at you. . . I'll be happy that a boy is noticing."

True, I thought in my head. I should be happy, and a part of me was. It meant that I was at least attractive to boys. But I was worried about something, and it kept on bothering me.

"But," I began uncomfortably, dropping my voice, "what if it's all _fake_?" I said somewhat bitter, glaring down at the floor. _  
_

She was quiet.

Lidia decided that it was her turn to take over the conversation. "But what if he's not, huh?"

My insides clenched suddenly. I looked up from the floor and shrugged. "Think about it," I almost begged both of them, looking at both their eyes, "he screams at me, leaves, comes back, and now wants to have a staring contest? A little suspicious, don't ya' think?" I said shakily. I mean, I don't wanna fall for Paul's trap, and then end up being the cause of La Push's laughter.

Daiane exhaled loudly. "You're overreacting, Ana."

"Like always," Lidia piped in with a roll of their eyes, dismissing my worries.

I scowled at them, running a hand through my tangled hair. "Shut it," I barked angrily, glaring down at the floor.

They just didn't understand! That was the part that really frustrated me. They just saw that a. . . good looking kid was gawking at me, but what they didn't see is that he gave me these weird looks whenever I saw Jacob and smiled, or when I smiled or waved at a guy. It was almost like jealousy. I was terrified a bit, not knowing what he was going to do to all the boys I talked to.

I was especially worried for Jacob.

Exhaling loudly, I finally looked up, but my jaws were still clenched and I was still sort of angry with my friends. Though I didn't want to be; it wasn't there fault that I easily got frustrated. They knew me very well, so it's that exact reason why they didn't care that I looked pissed off.

Physical Education was, as usual, exhausting. It was my least favorite class. To make it even worse, I had to run a lap outside of the school, on the mud, with my brand new shoes. No one complains though, not even me. The P.E. teacher, Mrs. King, is really mean and strict, so no one wants to mess with that old hag.

I've heard that Paul is always getting in trouble with her. . .

"Stop it," I groaned breathlessly, clumsily jumping over a puddle of mud. I almost squealed when I sort of lost my balance, but Lidia—who was running alongside me, while Daiane walks the lap—caught me by the arm, and steadied me.

She gave me a questioning look before shrugging it off, and jutted her chin forward to indicate that I continue running. I nodded, agreeing mutely, and began to jog once more—that is, until Lidia told me to stop running.

Let me say something: I don't run, I jog.

She caught up to me, panting, sweaty-faced like me. "Stop running!" she demanded sternly.

I felt myself go defensive. "I don't run—I _jog_."

"Nope," she said, sighing loudly. "You run."

"I have long legs."

Silence followed after my statement, before we both began to laugh hysterically.

Teenagers around us look at us weirdly; some curious, others annoyed. But I could have cared less. They didn't know why me saying I had long legs was funny. It was something only me and my best friends knew about. It was a secret between all three of us.

"What's so funny?" Daiane said from beside me, sounding thoroughly exhausted. She never really exercised—she hated P.E. with a passion. "Tell me!" she whined, pouting.

"Now I want you all getting into teams of six. . ." the teachers voice trailed off, and Lidia, Daiane and I glanced at one another instantly, grinning at one another. ". . . And you three," the teacher was pointing at us, "_separate_."

We all whined.

"But—!"

"Aww—!"

"Can't we—"

"No," Mrs. King barked at us, glaring. "Separate teams _now_—or I'll make you run a mile for the rest of the week!"

We all squeaked and hurried towards a different team. Heck, I might not hate running that much, but I sure ass hated sweating a lot. Thanks to my mom, I always sweated a lot; she sweats a lot, too. My brothers didn't get the genes, which was very unfair. Girls shouldn't sweat. Simple as that.

Mrs. King had us play soccer, which wasn't that awful. It was my second favorite sport, but still. I didn't want to play in this freezing weather. It was cold, and my legs were freezing since the P.E. shorts weren't protecting them. I didn't play much at all. In fact, I just stood there, pretending to block goals from the opposing team by just sticking my right foot out, and pretending to kick; I always failed.

"You suck," Dean Thompson said jokingly to me. He rolled his eyes at me and winked.

I blushed, getting nervous—this usually happened when a boy talked to me. "You suck more."

"Nope," he said, chuckling. He waved bye before jogging towards the Boy's locker room.

Daiane and Lidia walked beside me, giggling about something. I frowned, feeling myself go self-conscious. "What?"

They shook their heads and giggled louder. "Nothing!"

I glowered at them. "Just spit it out," I said, almost whining. "C'mon."

"We'll tell you later," Daiane said cheerfully, waving me off and walking ahead of me. Lidia followed after her, while I stood there for a split second, confused and wondering, before following after my friends.

A silent, content sigh escaped my lips when the bell rang. I quickly dressed back to my normal clothes, and packed my backpack, before turning to Daiane, who was still dressing. I scowled at her slowness; did she not see that I was ready to leave? Apparently, she could, but she didn't care—since she smiled sweetly at me when she met my eyes.

"Hurry up!" Lidia said, poking Daiane on the back. "I wanna leave already."

I smirked. "So do I."

Finally, after Daiane had hurried her butt off, we were walking out of school. I swung my hips mockingly, showing Daiane and Lidia how Elena Castle walked. They were giggling loudly behind me as I walked weirdly. And then they stopped suddenly, and their footsteps' sounds quieted too—and I also began to twitch. I swiveled around quickly, which was a major mistake because I lost my footing, and began to fall. But a strong, hot arm shot out of nowhere, grabbing my arm—sending a strong, almost magnifying energy throughout my body—and steadied me.

I was almost fearful to look up—both delightment and annoyance was creeping up on me, and I found myself glowering down at the ground.

There was a silent moment, that is, until Paul's arrogant voice broke it.

"What? No thank you's?" he asked smugly. "I mean, I just did save your life. . . A kiss is fine, you know. You don't even need to say thank you. . . But you _can _open your mouth," he added in, making my cheeks flood with lava.

"No," I said stubbornly, clenching my jaws. I refused to look at him. "Go away."

He chuckled. "No way. I won't go anywhere unless you tell me."

"I _just _did. Go away."

"Let me say it another way: I won't leave you—my beautiful green eyed monster—alone, until you're _officially _mine." he said strongly, sounding serious. I was both thrilled and terrified at his words, not knowing what to make of them. I wanted to walk away, but at the same time, I wanted to stay here, and argue with him so we could at least talk.

A knot formed on my throat, and I tried to gulp it away. "I'll never be your's," I growled, finally glaring up at him—wow he was _huge_. "Get that stuck in that little, arrogant head of your's," I spat, stomping my foot down on the ground angrily.

He raised an amused eyebrow. "I didn't know girl's stomped their feet in reality—oh wait, never mind. Elena does that a lot."

My left eye squinted at the mention of her. "Ugh don't even compare me to her," I said almost bitterly, my eyes looking around Paul. I tried to locate her, but she didn't seem to be anywhere around. Pleased with this bit of information, I resumed my glaring towards Paul. "_What_?" I asked, shifting uncomfortably when I caught him giving me one of those "special" stares at me.

Paul shrugged. "Nothin'."

"Well," Daiane said from behind me, winking at me—clearly, Paul must have seen this. "We have to go. Sorry Ana, but my mom wants me home early. So. . . bye!" she added in cheerfully, winking once more and staring at Paul with wide eyes. "B—bye."

"Bye," Lidia murmured, following after Daiane who had already scurried away—she had seen my death glare.

I watched them leave with envy. They didn't get to be stuck here with Paul. "I'm going to kill them," I muttered under my breath.

"Why? 'Cause they want this sexy beast too, huh," Paul spoke up suddenly, sounding annoyingly smug. He gestured to himself with a big smirk plastered on his face. This only infuriated me more.

"Nobody wants you."

"You do."

"No," I said stubbornly, clenching my jaws.

"Admit it," he whined almost, his arm reaching out—my eyes were immediately drawn on how his new muscles flexed when he did so—for my arm, but I quickly flinched away. "Aw," he pouted. "Now don't be mean."

I laughed bitterly. "You're talking to me about not being mean?" I watched his face; he winced a little. "Well, you shouldn't have screamed at me two weeks ago; then, you might have had some brownie points," I said angrily, glaring at him. "Leave me alone." And with that, I began to walk away—quickly, I might add, to get away from him.

Though he was insistent to bother me. "Hey, you deserved it," he said, no trace of teasing in his voice. "My skin is nice. It's not some disease." he spat.

Then the embarrassment flooded in. "I—I'm sorry," I finally said resentfully, kicking a rock.

"You know, everything would be forgotten if you just give me a kiss," he said. My eyes flickered up to him, and saw the cheeky smile on his lips.

I jerked my head to the right, and then to the left.

"Aw," he whined. "Well then. . . I don't forgive you," he taunted, one of his flaming fingers grazed over my right cheek. I immediately reacted by slapping his finger away—I hated being touched without even knowing, heck, it just made me uncomfortable—and took three steps away from him, my breathing stopped.

He was shaking again, and glaring, too.

"Paul," I began shakily, looking away and squeezing my eyes shut. "Don't do that crap—"

"What the hell!" he suddenly yelled, interrupting me. "Why are you being so damn stubborn! This imprinting crap should make you easy to get—then why the hell isn't it working!" His shaking worsened, and unconsciously, I took several steps back, scared at the amount of anger in his eyes.

_Imprinting_?

Make it easy to get me?

My eyes stung once more. I had been right; he had just wanted to get me to play with me, and then make me the laugh of La Push.

"Go to hell," I spat, my vision beginning to blur. "Get the bloody hell away from me!"

And then I was running away like a pathetic looser that I was. I was running away, when in reality, I should have made sure Paul was alright with his seizure problem. Though my mind rationalized that he was going to be fine. After all, he was still alive from his last seizure, no? The self-loathing appeared; why was I the source of all his seizures, dang it!

Gasping, I quickly opened my door and went inside my house. My mom was in the living room, and yelped out a, "Ana, what's wrong?" But I ignored her. Instead, I rushed into my room, and locked it, while dropping my backpack and glaring at the wall facing me. I refused to cry right now. I _refused_.

"Ana," my mom began sternly while knocking on the door, "open the damn door." This surprised me; I thought she wasn't going to even check on me since I told her those words two weeks ago. I sighed quietly and didn't move from the wall I was leaning against.

I didn't even think about my answer. "No."

"Open up."

"No."

"Don't make me call your father," she warned.

I relented. "Mum. . ."

"Ana," she sighed loudly, "open up."

I resentfully did so. "What?" I asked rudely, glaring down at the floor.

"What's wrong, hun?" she asked quietly, standing on the door way.

I looked up at her worried face. My anger vanished and I was instantly relieved; my mom forgave me. "Nothing, it's just. . . I got in a fight with this stupid girl," I said, smirking. Yeah, I got in a fight with big-boy Paul. I can't beat him up even if it was to safe my life; I don't have the muscles he does.

My mom was quiet. "Did it turn violent?" she asked quietly.

"No," I replied. "Just. . . she touched my face and I freaked out, and she got—I guess—mad?"

She nodded. "Yeah. You don't like being touched by many," she said with the slightest of smiles. "I don't see why, though."

I shrugged. "Beats me."

"So is that it?"

"Pretty much, yeah." I shrugged. "Why? Expected a lot of drama?" I joked, trying to ease the tension.

"No," my mom giggled. "Actually, I'm—"

I didn't get to hear the end of her sentence because there was a loud knocking coming from the front door. Both my mom and I stared at each other confusedly. My dad and brothers had their keys, so it mustn't be them. And I wasn't expecting anyone, and neither was my mom—I could tell because she didn't have any make-up on.

"I'll go answer it," I said quickly, the knocks getting even more insistent.

Once I was close enough to the door, I asked, "Who is it?" loudly.

"Paul!" his—surprisingly—familiar voice said. I stiffened.

"What?" How did he know where I lived? I mean, it's a small town. . . but _how_? I didn't expect him to know!

He knocked harder. "Open the door, Ana, goddamnit!" he yelled, sounding furious and panicky at the same time.

"Um. . . yeah, no." I said, going over to the window and opening the curtain slightly. He was glaring at the door and then pounded at it with his large fists, looking distressed.

"ANA!" And then he began to tremble.

"Ana, who's that?" my mom asked from behind me, putting a hand over her heart. I rolled my eyes at her silly antics.

"Nobody mum, nobody." I said quickly, smiling smally. "It's my, um, friend. . . Paul. . ." Biggest lie I have ever told.

"Oh?" she asked, smiling. "Then let him in!"

My eyes twitched. Shouldn't she be wanting me to stay away from a guy that yells? We both winced when Paul yelled, "_ANA_!"

"Damn," I mumbled.

Exhaling, and with my heart pounding, I opened the door. Paul's fist almost hit my face, but thankfully, he froze it on mid-air. We stared at one another for a moment, no one speaking—it was getting rather awkward with Paul's fist still in the air, inches away from my face.

There was a cough from beside me. "Hem, hem," my mom said, making me look away to roll my eyes. "Hello, you must be Paul?" I turned around to see my mom checking him out. I almost vomited. "You're quite handsome," she giggled.

"Mom!" I hissed, blushing.

"What?" she asked innocently. "Fine. I'll leave you two alone." She winked at me, ignoring my glare.

When she was gone, I rounded on Paul. "How the hell do you know where I live?" I hissed at him, annoyed with his arrogant smirk.

He shrugged, hazel eyes flickering to me before looking around the small part of my house he could see. "Eh."

"_Eh_?" I repeated, dumbfounded.

Paul nodded, narrowing his eyes on me. I shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. "Why did you run?" he sounded furious again; the previous stress look that had dominated his face disappeared, and he now looked down at me with worry. "Was something wrong?"

I snorted. "Yeah—_you_."

Then he was smirking. "What? You like _me_?"

"No," I said a little too quickly, making him smirk. "I don't. You were the reason why, I—um, ran." I blushed at my own words.

He raised an eyebrow when I stepped outside and closed the door behind me. He wiggled his eyebrows. "Oh, I see," he muttered mysteriously.

I clenched my jaws, my blush still on. "_What _do you see, Paul?"

Paul leaned forward. I felt myself back up against the door, and I held my breath as his face measured just a couple of inches away from mine—I was quickly beginning to get flustered by the close space. I hated the effect he was having on me. My heart was beating rapidly, and I'm sure I looked pretty stupid with my eyes wide open, staring up at him unblinkingly, until I finally did blink. His infuriating smirk appeared even more prominent, noticing how nervous I was.

And then he leaned forward some more—his flaming nose briefly touched mine.

"P—Paul," I stammered out nervously, my palms beginning to sweat. "B—back away from me." He didn't. "Paul, I swear to God that if you don't back away I will—!"

"Will what?" he interrupted, his warm breath fanning over my face. I blinked several times, loosing my focus.

"Or she will call her brother, and he would beat your ass," a familiar voice said from somewhere behind Paul. I exhaled in relief when I recognized my older brother's voice, John.

I almost laughed in relief when Paul pulled away from me—_almost _laughed. What stopped me was the murderous glint in his eyes. And soon, I found myself being terrified for John, who was seizing up Paul, checking whether he could take him on. I love my brother, I do, and I have complete faith that he's strong. . . but look at Paul! He's so annoyingly _huge_!

"Who the hell are you?" Paul growled, rounding on my brother. He took a step backwards away from me, but towards my brother.

I automatically took a step forward. "Paul!" I hissed, looking at my brother with panicked eyes. "Paul! Go!"

His wild hazel eyes made contact with mine, and he began to tremble. "Is he another boyfriend of your's?" he spat, his trembling increasing when he met my brother's eyes.

My nose wrinkled. "Ew, no!"

Paul opened his mouth the same time my brother did, but a loud, commanding and strong voice interrupted both of them. "Paul!" It was Samuel Uley's voice.

From what I've heard from my mom, was that he was into drugs. Of course I didn't believe my mom—everything she told me were rumors. But as I surveyed him, I did notice that he looked big, like someone I knew. . . as if he had taken steroids. . . he was big, and buff, too. . . like Jared and _Paul._

Did Paul hang out with this guy?

Anger, unsuspecting anger, began to bubble in my chest. What the hell was he doing with him? Heck, why do I care!

"Paul!" Jared's voice said, sounding totally serious. He jogged his way over to us, and he cast a worried glance over at me. He raked my face with his eyes, before looking relieved and grabbing Paul by his shaking arm, and tugged. Wrong mistake.

"Don't touch me," snarled Paul, yanking his arm away. By now, his body was turning into this freaky blur, and I took a step back, squeaking.

Jared's eyes flashed over to mine. "Paul," he said, his voice simple, plain, "look behind you—it's _Ana_."

Paul turned around, and his wild eyes seemingly softened a bit. I held my breath, terrified. "Ana," he breathed softly, almost in an awed voice.

"Yeah, Ana." Jared nodded. "Now, we don't want to hurt her, do we?"

Paul glared at Jared, and began to shake even more. "No." he growled.

"Good, so I think we should leave. . ." Jared replied calmly, and shot Samuel Uley a look.

Sam nodded at Jared, and quickly began to tug Paul away from me. I could only stare in shock and terror as they began to lead Paul away from me—shaking and everything—to the woods. I didn't know where the heck they were taking him, but I found myself shrugging off the fear, and my courage stepped up as I took a step forward, yelping out, "Wait!"

Piercing dark brown—almost black—eyes stared into mine. "He has to leave," Samuel said curtly, eyes shifting away from mine. I hadn't realized I had been holding my breath until I exhaled.

"B—but," I stammered, running a hand through my hair, eyes looking at Paul who stared back at me, "where are you taking him?" I was worried again.

He smirked. "You worry too much," he barked bitterly, rolling his eyes. Then he looked away from me, pushed Jared and Sam away from him, and jogged quickly to the woods.

I huffed and turned around, glaring at my mom who was peaking through the curtains.

"Hey," John said, putting his arm around my shoulders and hugging me briefly. "Ignore him at school. If he gives you anymore troubles, then tell me."

The next day, I was surprised to see Paul in school—and staring at me.

He _wouldn't stop _staring.

His eyes found me everywhere; even after school when Lidia and Daiane were walking home, laughing. He had appeared out of nowhere, brushing his flaming arm against mine. And when I did catch him gawking at me, he never said a word to me. He would just stare at me intensely, eyeing all my moves—even in class, when I sat next to him, he wouldn't speak to me. It was rather unnerving knowing that someone was watching your every move whenever they had the chance—and at this point, I didn't actually care that my personal stalker was. . . hot.

"He's like, I don't know, stalking you!" squealed Daiane, digging her bare feet into the sand. "It's _so _cute!"

We were currently hanging out by the beach. It was a pleasant Saturday afternoon.

Both Lidia and I looked at her weirdly. "_Cute_?" we said at the same time, wrinkling our noses.

"Yeah," Daiane nodded, munching on her Doritos that she wouldn't share. "It _is_."

"For you," I grumbled, and sneakily grabbed a Dorito while she wasn't looking. I chewed on it happily, winking at Lidia who was silently giggling. "For me it isn't."

Lidia nodded. "It's creepy."

I nodded, agreeing.

We were quiet for a moment, before Daiane squealed, "Oh lookie, he's here too! Aw, he's a good stalker. Lucky," Daiane said, pouting at me.

"Don't look!" I hissed.

"Personal stalker alert. Eep, eep! Personal Stalker alert!" Daiane giggled, pointing at Paul as he walked by with Jared and other La Push teenagers. I felt my face heat up when I began to twitch—I knew he was staring. I stared determinedly down at the ground while the chattering passed, and finally looked up when Lidia tugged on my shirt.

We both glared at Daiane.

"What?" she asked innocently. "Personal Stalker just passed. _Someone _had to say it."

"Shut up Daiane." Lidia grumbled, rolling her eyes. She turned to me, and frowned. "We should tell your mom about this," she said, her tone worried as she looked over at where Paul was probably at. I too, looked up, and found my own eyes meeting a pair of Hazel eyes.

I quickly looked away to snort. "Tried that."

"Oh? What'd she say?" Daiane piped up curiously.

"That he has a, um, crush on me," I snorted, blushing. "Doubt that."

"Hmm," Lidia hummed, thinking. "What if he does?"

"Doubt that," I repeated.

"Well, I agree with Daiane on one thing," Lidia said, sighing. "Seems like you do have your very own personal stalker with some serious issues that's always gawking at you," she giggled.

This cracked a smile from me.

Paul freaking Lahote, was my hot personal it didn't thrill me. In fact; I was totally creeped out.

"He's staring," Lidia whispered to me, elbowing me.

I looked up, and met my stalker's hazel eyes, trying to wonder his motives and all his confusing actions. And I didn't look away because my insides turned warm, and I found myself not wanting to look away. I told myself I was being stupid.

To be honest, I wanted to keep on being stupid so I could stare into those eyes that seemed to be smirking at me.

* * *

**A/N: Well, I imagine Paul being jealous. I don't know why—I mean, all the girls want him. But yet, Ana is the only one who doesn't, and she likes this other guy. . . Jacob (yay). And he thinks this imprinting thing is supposed to make it easier to get her. He's furious that he can't, but tries to play it cool by acting, ya know. . .**

**Sorry if there was any mistakes; I will correct them later :) And it's a little late, and I'm sorry ;( I was busy last week, lol :)**

**I am glad everyone is liking this. THIRTY reviews for just TWO CHAPTERS! And so I got like. . . SEVENTEEN REVIEWS last chapter! I'm glad everyone is liking it. Thanks everyone, it makes me really happy :')**

**REVIEW!**


	4. DIFFERENT PERSON

**4. DIFFERENT PERSON**

ODDLY ENOUGH, I felt exhausted even though I have slept well in the past few days. I felt awful, too, almost hideous of myself when I looked in my reflection. I, of course, waved this off, trying not to worry about myself. Instead, I worried about Daiane and her plans to throw a party. Don't get me wrong, I wanted her to throw one. . . but who would come? I mean, let's face it: Daiane didn't have many friends. I didn't either, and so didn't Lidia. A part of me imagined that no one was going to come.

Daiane was enthusiastic about her idea. "I mean, no one's thrown one all year!" she squealed, bouncing on my bed.

I frowned. Today had been the first time in what seemed like weeks, that I had tidied up my room. Though one visit from Lidia and Daiane seemed to ruin my grand effort.

"Well, that's for sure," I said in a dull voice, not sure if I should voice my opinions. "It might be fun, I guess."

She gaped at me. "_Might_?" she asked in an offended tone. "It _is_!"

Lidia nodded along, thinking. "I think it is going to be fun. We can throw it at the beach, you know—more space, more people," she reasoned, smiling up at the both of us.

My chirpy friend clapped her hands. "Great idea!" she praised Lidia, smiling. I wanted to say something to wipe that smile off her face—I hated being around happy people when I wasn't in the mood. "Now, who should be the guest of honor—besides you two, of course. . . Aha!" She jumped up from my bed, and almost succeeded in dropping my organized stuffed animals.

Her sudden outburst made me jump back, startled. "What?" I asked, gritting my teeth. "Don't do that, please." I made a face.

Daiane rolled her eyes at me. "Stop being so moody," she complained. "Cheer up! I'm going to invite Paul, duh. Don't worry."

My face flushed. "That's not why—" I cut myself off, knowing that if I argued about anything relating to Paul Lahote, they would keep the subject up. I exhaled loudly, biting on my lower lip. "I'll stop being moody if you don't ruin my room." I huffed.

Lidia burst out laughing. "Alright, Miss Cleaners!"

Daiane joined in her laughter.

I rolled my eyes, the tips of my lips rising. "Ha. Ha. How lame."

They stuck their tongue out at me, making me do the same.

"It's official, then: Party time next week!" Daiane giggled, grinning at Lidia.

A groan almost escaped my lips. Unlike them, I wasn't really into crowded, loud places were people "partied". I'm always uncomfortable, which makes the fun go away. I knew that both my friends weren't happy with my wrinkling nose—they had stopped cheering to stare at me, and roll their eyes. I chuckled nervously when I saw Daiane's glare, and when I heard Lidia's huff. They should know though. I just wasn't a party person. Heck, I wasn't even a fun person. I hated wild stuff, like jumping off the cliffs, or driving a motorcycle.

In all, I was just a boring girl.

"_Ana_," Daiane began to whine. "C'mon! You're gonna like my party!"

"That's what you said for Dean's party." I retorted, flushing. That party had been humiliating; I had worn high-heels for my first time, and had ended up almost falling right in front of Jacob last year. That might be the reason why I don't wear high-heels. "Plus," I continued, "I don't like wearing dresses. Simple."

Lidia opened her smart mouth. "Then don't wear a dress. Wear jeans."

I cringed. I racked my brain for a comeback, and almost patted myself in congratulations. "I don't have new jeans—the one's I have are all worn out." I saw Daiane open her mouth, but I quickly added in, "And I don't have money to buy new ones, either."

Both of them huffed.

"Party-pooper," Lidia grumbled.

"Dumb ass," Daiane said, glaring at me.

I shrugged. "I'm still not going. Even if you two call me stuff. I, Ana Ruth Martin, will not go to the party," I said strongly, keeping a solemn face. "Sorry," I added in, for Daiane's benefit. "You know I don't like parties. . . I'd probably ruin it, anyways, if I go. Like ya' said, I'm a party-pooper." I laughed.

"Fine," Daiane grumbled. "Though you're gonna pay for it," she warned me, her face serious.

I raised my hands in the air. "Okey-Dokey." I grinned.

News spread across La Push's tribal school. I told a few people, like Kim O'Connor—a shy girl in my first period, English—and also Dean, and other people I talked to, which weren't a lot. I would blush when they would ask me when the party was going to happen—Daiane hadn't been very specific about that topic—or when they asked who was going. I knew I'd loose their interest when I'd shrug and say, "I don't know."

Guilt formed in my system. I had driven away customers from Daiane's party.

"So," an obnoxious voice said from beside me, while I walked to fifth period, Art. I was a bit angry with him for wanting to fight with John. I quickened my pace, moving my arm so I wouldn't touch his scorching one. "What's up? I heard there was this party. . . and you were inviting people."

I was almost surprised by the casualness in his voice. "Yeah," I confirmed. "I was." I had told all the people I knew about the party—and I wouldn't dare ask anyone who I didn't know. I was shy when it came to that. I acted all awkward and clumsy around new people.

"Was?" Paul asked. I looked up at him to see him with a raised eyebrow.

"Yep."

"Don't I get to be invited?" He smirked down at me, making me flush.

"No—" I cut myself off, a light bulb appearing on top of my head. Paul was rather popular—or I should say well known with the, um, ladies—and if I invited him. . . Daiane would be happy because if he went, then people like Elena Castle—who liked Paul, or was after him—would want to come. . . which would make _other__'s _come, seeing popular kids coming to Daiane's party. . . Damn, I'm so smart.

"Well?" he probed, still smirking.

I tried to smile sweetly at him. "Um, sure. Go ahead and come." My face flushed. "But if you want details, ask Daiane Nash—um, ya' know, my friend."

Paul nodded. "Why can't I ask you?"

"Because," I sighed heavily, "I really wasn't paying attention while Lidia and Daiane were planning." It felt odd admitting something like this to someone, much less Paul. "But it'll be fun, I betcha," I assured him, getting nervous, hoping he'd believe my words and not bail on Daiane's party. I mean, how many parties has he gone to? I estimated about. . . a lot.

He chuckled, taking me by surprised. It seemed like we were having a normal conversation for once. "I don't like parties," he confessed to me with a shrug. "Not my type of thing."

This time, the surprise showed on my face. My mouth fell open. "You don't?" I whispered, awed. "Wow, I didn't know that!"

Paul rolled his eyes at me, smirking. "Well now you do, Honey-Buns." He laughed at my distaste for the nickname. "Aw, cheer up! It's Friday! Hallelujah girl! Now cheer with me!"

I blinked a couple of times. "I'm talking to a different person, that looks like Paul Lahote, but isn't. . . right?"

"Nope," he said arrogantly. "This sexy beast is the real sexy Paul Lahote."

"You're not hot," I said in a hushed voice, blushing.

His smirked seemed more intent. "I'm Paul Lahote, the guy no one can resist." He winked at me. "See," Paul began arrogantly, "even my last name says I'm hot."

I raised an eyebrow, ignoring my hot face.

"La-_hot_-eh," he clarified. "Paul La-_hot_-eh?"

Thankfully, I managed not to show the smile. "You're not hot," I said stubbornly, crossing my arms and raising my chin up in the air. "You _wish _you were hot."

"Don't lie to yourself, Ana," he sneered, leaning down so his face was a couple inches away from mine—making my face flush. "I like good girls."

"I gotta get to class," I said quickly, looking down at the floor. "Bye."

"Bye, you fine lady," he said in a taunting voice. Then he was quiet for a moment, before saying, "You _are_ fine, you know." He stared at me intently, making me shut up for a moment.

Before I could even utter a word out, he swiftly turned, and left. I wouldn't be the first to admit that his words were flattering. No guy had called me _fine_. I mean, it would have been much better if he'd said I was a pretty girl—though I think I carry Troll blood in my veins—or nice looking. . . Sadly, he called me fine lady. I think I would be fine with that; it was enough for me to smile goofily to myself, and enter my Art class.

Art class was the only class I was really good at. I loved to draw stuff. It made me feel free, almost. I wasn't the best, I knew that. _Elena Castle _was.

As usual, I sat in the back, away from her Non-Royalness. I sat down next to Dean, and he smiled at me politely, before going back to gawking at Elena. I turned to stare at her, too, and was amazed to see her glaring at me. I was confused; what had I done to her? Nothing. . . Wait! Had I made her hair messy, while I quickly rushed pass her ugly presence? Oh no!

"Why're you smiling?" Dean muttered under his breath.

I hadn't realized I had been, until he'd pointed it out. I wiped it off my face, flushing. "Um, I don't know." I said quickly, looking down at my desk. I kicked myself internally because I was such an idiot.

"Okay. . ." Dean said awkwardly.

My face heated. "Er, yeah. . ."

Throughout the class, I felt as though someone was watching me. I had an itching feeling that it was Elena, but then I would ask myself: Why would she be staring at me? I was nothing of value to her. I was no threat to her. I had nothing to give. I hadn't even taken anything away from her. So why the hell was she staring at me—no, no: Why was she _glaring _at _me_?

As the questions circles around my head, I found myself being uncomfortable. I hated being watched. Paul watching me seemed much different. Elena watching me was also rather different, and I wasn't at all flattered. I twitched a couple of times in class, and I was trying my hardest to focus on what Mr. Jones wanted us to draw for homework.

"Free time," Mr. Jones announced loudly, his voice cool. "Your welcome." He grinned.

"Good," Dean sighed beside me. Then I felt him tense, and I looked over at him to see him gaping at something, his mouth had fallen open and his eyes were wide. "Oh, h—hey E—Elena," he stuttered, his face darkening. I wondering if I looked like an idiot whenever I was nervous, too.

When I looked up, sure enough, Elena Castle was glaring down at me, some of her followers behind her, trying to look cool. I felt miniture compared to her, almost threatened. I looked around me desperately, seeking a way out of this little Chit-Chat I was sure to have in a couple of moments. Yet everyone seemed too preoccupied to even notice that I needed help from this female-dog.

"So," she drawled in a high-pitched voice, glancing at me with disinterest—well, nobody said she had to be interested! "You're Ana." She sounded almost disappointed, yet relieved at the same time. A faint, sweet smile formed on her lips.

"No duh," I said, pointing to the tag on my shirt I had clipped on in the beginning of class—Mr. Jones had us do this because sometimes he forgot our names. "How do you know my name?" I blurted out, sounding stupid.

Wow, I was such an idiot.

Elena glared at me. I was a bit awed at how pretty she was. I was a troll compared to her. This now made me feel self-conscious of myself, making me look down at the desk. I knew I was acting like a coward; but then again, I had never really said I corageous, or brave. I actually didn't know how to fight. I was a chicken, but I stood up for myself. _Somtimes_, when I had my best friends to back me up. Now, sitting here alone, against. . . seven people, I felt like a chiken.

She wasted in no time to get straight forward to the point, ignoring my question. "Paul's mine," she said in a certain, snotty voice.

I raised an eyebrow. Now I felt annoyed; and for two entirely different reasons. I was annoyed because everyone thought I wanted Paul. And then I was also annoyed because in reality, Paul _wasn't _her's. . . I felt a rush of anger when I heard the possessiveness in her voice.

"He isn't," I muttered quietly.

The beauty Queen laughed falsely at me. "Of course he is. You think he belongs to _you_?"

She didn't even let me answer, because she continued her speech.

"He doesn't," she sneered, flipping back some of the hair that were bothering her eyes, back. "He belongs and wants _me_. Do you hear me? Me, not you—but _me_." The words sliced deep into me for some unknown reason. I could feel the angry scowl disappearing from my face, being replaced by pursed lips. My lips had began to tremble.

"So?" I asked, trying not to make my voice shake. "I don't care."

Elena rolled her eyes, laughing once more. "Of course you don't. You're just some toy he wants to play with. In the end, he's gonna throw you out like a used rag doll."

"No—"

"Oh, but he _is_!"

I clenched my jaws. "No." I shook my head quickly, trying not to show my watery eyes. Had he confided this to her? "I'm not gonna let myself."

She hummed. "I'd like to see you try. How can somebody resist him? I really don't see why he looks at you. You're just pure, ugly crap that he's—"

That struck the nerve. "Shut up," I growled, glaring at her. "Stop insulting yourself."

Elena seemed taken aback. Seems like nobody has ever treated her with such, "disrespect". "Repeat yourself," she hissed.

I clenched my jaws. "What? Are you deaf now?" I faked a laugh. Now I was beginning to get nervous.

She opened her mouth, but the bell rang.

I wanted to kiss the bell.

And to think that I wanted to murder it in my first period, English.

She was still standing in front of my desk, I knew that, but I ignored her. I packed my stuff and didn't make it a secret that I didn't want to hear Elena. And I actually dared myself to walk by Elena, and smack my shoulders against her seemingly fragile ones.

I was proud of myself.

Ana Martin had stood up to the Beauty Queen. That's something to be proud about!

"I don't believe you," Daiane whispered to me in an awed voice as we walked home.

My brows furrowed. "Don't believe what?" I assumed she was talking about me standing up to Elena. This made me smile, and I prepared myself to tell a gland tale about the Wonderful Ana.

She proved me wrong. "_You invited Paul to the party_!" she squealed, and tackled me to a hug.

"Daiane," I whined, feeling my face heat up, and feeling weird—uncomfortable at feeling her arms around me. "Please stop," I almost begged. She was touching me.

Daiane flushed. "Oops," she said, while pulling away. I was glad that I had made her happy, but she could keep her body from mine.

Lidia grinned. "Now we're gonna have more people in the party!"

"Trust me," I said cockily, "you are. You're welcome."

We walked in silence, both Lidia and Daiane too happy to speak. I was okay with that; I understood their need to inner-dance in their minds. I tried to whistle like I've seen in the TVs, but found out that I suck at it. I could only do two, short tunes, before my whistle turned all raspy and airy.

"Is it true?" Lidia finally spoke up, flustered.

I looked at her, confused. "What?"

"You and Elena. . ." she trailed off, uncertain.

My face brightened. "Yeah," I said, nodding my head, proud of myself.

"Good job Ana Banana!" Daiane giggled, knowing I hated that pesty nickname.

I glared. "Don't."

Daiane merely stuck her tongue out.

"Oh," Lidia said absentmindedly. "What about?"

I bit my lip. "About Paul. . ." I trailed off, observing both their shocked faces. "Not the way you think," I added in quickly. "She thinks he's mine—which he's not—and then she called me stuff," I spoke out in a rush, getting angry. "Who the—"

"_—hell _does Elena think she is?" a voice snarled, ending my sentence.

It made me jump up, surprised. I turned around to stare at Paul, his face twisted in rage. "Paul," I said automatically, speechless. "Calm down."

He glared at me. "Don't tell me to calm down! She treated you like crap!" His trembling increased.

Closing my eyes and exhaling loudly, I took a cautious step forward. I remembered what Jared had told Paul last time; to calm down for me. I figured I'd use that exact same method now. Though I had no idea why it had calmed Paul last time. "Paul," I began warily, ignoring my friends for a little, "please calm down. For _ me_."

Angry hazel eyes met mine. I held onto them, willing to coax them with my own green one's. It seemed to be working because he stared at me, his trembling decreasing, until he was shaking only a little bit. I was proud; both at myself and him. I had managed to calm him down, and he had succeeded to calm down.

"I should have ran away," he muttered to himself. "To the woods. . . but _no_! I wanna stay with her." He shook his head, not even realizing that I was listening in to his rambles._  
_

Daiane tugged on my sweater, and mouthed, "We're leaving." And then winked. Lidia did the same, but didn't wink.

I hope they saw my glare.

"Well," I breathed when they were gone, staring at Paul uncertainly. "Did your girlfriend tell you?"

He looked offended? "Ha!" he barked. "That girl ain't nothing to me," he sneered, spitting at the ground. "She's nothing compared to you."

Paul stared into my eyes so intensely, I found myself unable to breath. My mind was questioning me; shouldn't I be leaving? He was okay, right? Was he playing with me, like Elena had said? As I thought of this, I felt my face harden, and my fist tighten. I looked away from Paul, and glared down at the ground.

My mouth opened, but he interrupted.

"I'm _not _playing with you," he sighed, sounding sincere. I looked up at him, frowning. "I would never do that to you. . . Heck, even if I did want to—which I don't—I _can't_. You're probably the first girl in like, ever, to actually catch my interest." He paused, his hazel eyes strong as they stared into mine. "Ana, that girl is insane. You, on the other hand, are rational. Better. Smarter. . . Prettier."

Heat flooded into my face. He couldn't actually believe that, could he?

I snorted. "I'm a troll—I guess I'm sort of smart. . . So I'm a smart troll."

He rolled his eyes, smirking. "So. . . we good?"

Pursing my lips, I shrugged. "I don't know, Pelaul."

"Well, why not?"

"Because," I sighed, "how would I know when to trust you?"

"I don't know. . . believe?" he suggested, his smirk falling. A frown replaced it.

"That's just it!" I exclaimed. "Elena said that you're just using me!" I was suddenly angry again. "Let me tell you, okay? I don't want to believe in your false, sweet words. I don't want to get hurt. I don't want to be drawn in. . . Just leave me alone."

"Just ignore her, dammit!" he bellowed, shaking. "She's a lying bitch, Ana!" When I didn't respond, he continued to speak. "You know what? Sometimes I wonder why you were picked for me. Imprinting is pure bull crap, and I wish I hadn't gotten you. Heck, now I wish I'd gotten Elena. You know what? She's a hella lot better than you," he sneered, anger swimming in his eyes.

This caused me to take several steps backward. I was surprised to see that the tears weren't forming in my eyes. Instead, my stomach was twisting and turning unpleasantly, and my heart was beating rather quickly at the moment. I hated him. I don't know why he used the word "imprinting" a lot, but the way he spoke of it right now made it seem like a curse. I stared at him, rarely blinking.

"Go to her, then," I whispered. "I don't need you, or Elena, or the who goddamn school." I snarled, clenching my fists. "And like I said last time: Go away from me."

But unlike last time, that _I _had to walk away from him, _he _walked away from me, his body shaking as he stalked towards the woods. I watched, not sure if I should be angry, or hurt, or just feel nothing. In the end, I decided to be angry—it was best to be angry with Paul, than to be hurt by him. I glared at his retreating back, wishing he didn't exist. Wishing Elena didn't exist. Wishing that all this drama wouldn't exist.

Then he stiffened.

I was tempted to turn away, and begin to walk, but his furious, alert voice stopped me, and made me pay attention him.

"Go home," he ordered, not turning to face me. "Trust me or don't trust me," he sneered, "but there's something dangerous lurking around."

And then he left me there, leaving me confused.

Though I wasn't the one to follow orders, I felt the change in the atmosphere; something like a warning, told me to go home. But I didn't want to give Paul—whether it be the somewhat nice Paul, or the mean Paul—the satisfaction, and let him know that I was listening to him. So instead, I went to the local ice cream shop. I got myself some ice cream, and sat in one of the small tables like a loner.

Paul is gonna be pissed that I didn't listen to him.

Good, let him. I _finally_ don't care.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry for the delay guys :( I thought I wouldn't be able to update—my laptop was acting all funky on me. I was stressed out, guys o.O I wanted to update for all you wonderful people who are liking my story :D You don't know how happy I am! TWENTY ONE reviews for a chapter :o It amazes me. . . Thank you so much guys :') I really hope you all continue to like _Dynamic_. Action will begin soon, trust me. I just wanted to develop Paul and Ana some more. . . make their relationship seem more real, I guess?**

**Now, Paul is trying to act nice with Ana. As you can see, he thinks that by acting like a "different person", he will be able to get her easily. . . Eh, Ana isn't falling so easily xD She's a cautious, suspicious girl who agrees with, "It's too good to be true" saying. She can't, and won't, accept that a handsome guy is after her. . . I mean. . . He _had _yelled at her when they first spoke to one another. . . Also, Paul was so angry with Ana, he didn't want to face her. It took a great deal of effort to leave her. . . ;) He's his imprint after all, lol.**

**By the way, sorry if there was any mistakes. I'll come back to correct them :D And sorry if it didn't live up to your expectations /: The next chapter, ****5. DOOM AND GLOOM ****will be good ;)**

**Anyways, thank ya'll for the reviews! Thank you, thank you, and thank you! Please give me your ideas on this story, and/or tell me what you want to see here. I might find a place here to squeeze in your guy's wanna-see-scenes :D It can be anything; family bonding, friend bonding, Paul/Ana bonding. . . or arguing ;D**

**REVIEW!**


	5. DOOM AND GLOOM

** 5. DOOM AND GLOOM**

WHEN I WAS finally satisfied with ice cream—I had gotten three cups of cookies and cream—I decided that it was time to finally leave this lonely place, and go somewhere that would distract my mind. But I was tired, my legs ached for some unknown reason, and I was too damn lazy to get up from my comfortable seat, to actually move.

Yeah I'm lazy _sometimes_.

"Hey," said an unfamiliar, female voice.

I instinctively jerked my head to my right, which was the direction that the voice came from, and my eyes wandered up to see a scarred woman. She was badly scarred from the right side of her face, but other than that, she was a pretty. . . nineteen year old? Her brown eyes looked down at me kindly, and a smile formed on her lips—a part of her lips was sort of scarred too. My face warmed when I noticed I was gawking at her features, so I looked away, ashamed.

"Sorry," I mumbled quietly. I'm not sure if she even heard me.

The woman laughed, and it didn't sound at all forced. "It's alright," she said softly. "Mind if I seat here?"

A part of me _did_ mind; I was ready to leave already. And also, I barely knew this woman—and something told me I should know her, but I wasn't sure why. I shyly looked up, and I noticed that her kind eyes were observing me. Now that made me feel self-conscious.

"Um," I began, my cheeks warming even more, "n—no, not at all." I lied, of course. At least I was being polite, right?

I watched as she sat down on the seat in from of me—the smile on her lips never leaving.

"So," she said, "my name is Emily Young." she introduced herself.

Formalities.

I hated those.

Not too long ago, when I was in Kinder, or in Second grade, I remember when the teachers would makes us introduce ourselves to our new classmates, even if we already knew each other. I remember thinking it was dumb and humiliating when I had to come up with an animal name that starts with the letter "A".

All I had been able to come up with was: "Hi I—I'm Ana." Then I would look at the teacher, and see her shaking her head. So, I would correct myself, "Um, I'm a A—" the words would get stuck in my throat, and my face would heat up, "I'm Applebees!" I always said that, and I have no clue why.

Realizing that Emily was waiting for me to talk, I looked up, and tried to smile easily. "I'm Ana." To me, saying last names are dumb. I only say my first name when I introduce myself to someone. "And it's nice meeting you, Emily—" I cut myself off.

This was _the _Emily Young who took her cousin's fiancé away!

Trying not to act out of the blue, I made my eyes wander away from her face.

Emily was quiet for a moment, as if waiting for me to finish my sentence. When she saw that I wasn't, she cleared her throat quietly, and let out a long sigh. "Thank you," she said in a kind voice—I wondered if this was all a pretense; she had after all, taken her cousin's man away! Who the hell does that? That's just _nasty_. "I've actually been wanting to meet you, Ana."

My first thought was: Huh?

"Wha—?" I said, confused. My head cocked to the side, and my brows furrowed. "You, erm, wanted to meet me?" But I didn't even know this woman.

Emily nodded. "Yeah," she said. "Paul talks about you _a lot_."

"_Paul_?" I repeated in a high-pitched voice. "What?" I asked a bit too rudely, wanting to know what he'd said. Then I blushed, and said in a more polite voice, "I mean. . . why? What—what has he said about me?" Now this can't be good.

Her eyes widened. "Oh, no, no!" she said while shaking her head quickly. "Nothing bad!"

Though I didn't relax. "Why would _Paul_—of all people—talk about _me _to other people?" I found this utterly absurd. I looked around, feeling more than self-conscious now; I was uncomfortable. "I mean," I said, a little breathlessly, "there hasn't been any good things to talk about me."

Now _that _was the truth.

Emily frowned at me. "That's not true," she said softly. "From what he tells me," she paused, a wide smile appearing, "you're gorgeous—and he's right."

"_He said I was gorgeous_?" I spluttered, eyes widening. "But—but—" I wasn't. I was plain, everyone knew that.

"Of course he did!" she giggled.

I grimaced. "Oh." I didn't want to lash out on her; I barely knew this Emily. And she seemed nice, even if she _had _taken her cousin's fiancé—or so my mom told me. I watched Emily closely, observing her reactions. "Is, um, that ass—I mean," I paused to clear my throat, "is. . . _Paul _your cousin or something?"

She stopped giggling, but a smile was still on her lips. Her face softened considerably, and she nodded. "Well, not really, but I think of him as a cousin or a brother."

"Hmm."

An awkward silence filled the air. I began to bump my right leg up and down—something I did when I was nervous or just uncomfortable. I avoided looking at Emily, because then I knew I would begin to stutter, and therefore embarrass myself. I looked around, and a watched the window; Jacob and his best friends were coming.

Unavoidably, a smile crept up my lips.

I watched him for a moment, pausing to observe his laughing face before taking my eyes off him, and looking back to Emily's scarred face, who—I noticed—kept on staring at Jacob, then back at me. When she saw that she had my attention again, she smiled a little, and cleared her throat.

"So," she began in what she presumed a casual voice, "Jacob, huh?"

Trying my hardest not to show any emotions, I nodded. "Yeah."

Silence.

She broke it though. "Do you like him?"

I felt like this was a personal question. Besides, who the hell did she think she was asking me? Did she honestly expect me to answer? From what I've heard, Paul and Emily were close. So, what if I _did _tell her—which, obviously, I won't now—and went off to tell Paul? I wouldn't hear the end of it from Paul.

I shrugged.

Easy response, right? She could either think I did; or think I don't.

"Oh," she murmured. "Well, he is handsome, right?"

Again, I shrugged.

"Right." Emily nodded, looking a little awkward now. "Do you think Paul is cute**—"**

"Sorry, but I really need to go." I said a little too loudly, and pushed myself away from the table. My lips were pursed, and I was positive that my face was a vivid red that was a bright contrast from my dark hair.

With a face like fire, I stood up, feeling Emily's eyes on me all the while.

"I'm sorry," I repeated myself, a little quieter and more rationalized. "I hope I, um, didn't make a bad impression?" Ha! I knew I did.

Emily was quick to shake her head. "No, you're a really nice girl, Ana," she said in a soft voice. And then she paused, which made me look at her troubled-looking face. "I'm sorry if I annoyed you," she said sheepishly.

"Nope," I half-lied. "Nice meeting you, Emily." I forced a smile.

Her smile didn't seem at all forced—or was she an expert at acting?

"Bye!" she called after me, as I walked towards the door. Then she paused, frowning. "Go home, Ana. It's late."

"Oh. . . Okay." I lied. Then I opened the door. "Bye," I said, waving as I closed the door after me.

Emily Young.

Who was she, really?

A nice woman, or a back-stabbing cousin?

I shuddered. "Don't get involved with any of that crap, Ana," I told myself quietly. "That's mum's job." I let out a quiet laugh, knowing how too true my statement was. She was like the Mega-Gossiper of La Push. . . but Elena's mom, Ms. Sheila Castle, was her rival.

Ironic, wasn't it?

My mom hated Sheila, just like I hated Elena.

"Hey!"

I continued to walk, not even knowing if someone was calling for me.

"Hey, Ana!"

Finally, after realizing that it _was _me, I turned. I was surprised at seeing who was calling me: Jacob. It shocked me so much because I didn't even recognize his voice—which I should've of! I was a terrible crusher if I didn't even know how my crush's voice sounded like. . . anymore!

A small, embarrassed smile tugged on my lips. "Hey," I said a little loudly, as I watched him run to me.

Jacob grinned, stopping when he was right next to me. He inhaled sharply, before exhaling quietly. "Hey," he said again. "How are you?"

I was still too startled to say anything. "Fine," I half-lied. Because I was still too oriented to actually say I was 'okay'. "How about you?" I asked conservatively.

He shrugged, the grin on his slightly falling. "Not too good."

"Oh?"

"Both the idiots I call friends, almost chucked me in front of a car." he didn't sound too pleased about this. He was glowering now.

My face fell. "Damn then," I said under my breath, not meant for Jacob to hear.

Yet, he surprised me by laughing. "Yeah, damn them, alright!"

"You—you _heard me_?" I gaped.

He looked surprised, now, too. "Yeah. . . you said it loud." He gave me a questioning look.

I blushed. "Oh yeah, silly me." I laughed nervously. "So," I began, looking up at him, "wow, you're _huge_!" I gasped, just realizing how tall he was.

Jacob flushed. "Yep. I'm a bean pole."

I giggled. "And I'm a midget compared to you."

He laughed.

"What are you doing, all by yourself?" he asked.

I shrugged. "Being a rebel, actually," I said truthfully, grinning.

"A rebel?" he asked with a raised brow. "Mind if I join?"

"Not really," I said gleefully. "I don't want to go home—I want to disobey someone."

"Sounds good!" he exclaimed, a smiled spreading across his face. "So where should he hang out? I would take you to my garage"—at this, my heart swelled hopefully—"but it's messy," he said sheepishly. "I haven't gotten around to cleaning it."

"That's alright," I lied.

Jacob nodded. "We can hang at the beach?"

I pondered this. "Sure," I said slowly, "that sounds good." Unless, we saw Paul—which I already knew, would make a big deal out of me being at the beach with Jake, when he'd said to go home. But honestly, had he really expected me to comply to his orders?

He should've known better.

We walked in silence—a little apart from each other, making me a little glum—and nodded here and there when one of us would ask a question. It should have been awkward, I kept telling myself in awe, but it _wasn't_. It was nice being in the presence of someone normal, who wouldn't yell, or want to force me into painting my nails. Jacob was nice. He made me comfortable.

Anyone could say that at first glance, First Beach looked absolutely gloomy. But it wasn't for me. It was beautiful, in this sort of exotic way that made it one of a kind; with gray water, big, wide cliffs that I have only _once_ jumped—after a dare in freshmen year—trees surrounded the beach. The sand was a pale, peach color. But I _loved _it like this.

First Beach was marvelous in my opinion.

"It's pretty, isn't it?" Jacob asked me, observing me.

I nodded, smiling. "Definitely. Even if it _is _ a little boring looking." I admitted sheepishly.

We sat on some logs, and watched the ocean in silence, until I asked something that had randomly popped into my head.

"Hey, d'you know the Quileute legends?"

"By heart," Jacob said. "Dad tells them good."

"True," I agreed. "I, erm—"

"—forgot them?"

I nodded, embarrassed.

He rolled his eyes at me. "Ah, who hasn't forgotten about them?"

"You." I pointed out.

He gave me a mocking look. "Right—me." He laughed. "But they're like, our histories, you know."

I rolled my eyes. "So, expert?" I probed.

He narrowed his eyes. "You want me to tell them?"

"Please?" I asked, widening my eyes, even though I knew it wouldn't help.

"The histories we always thought were legends," he said. "The stories of how we came to be. The first is the story of the spirit warriors. . . "

His tale began, and his voice drastically changed into mystic-like; like his _dad_, I remembered. I listened intently to his story, awed here and there, gasping at the right places, and filching when we came to the part where the Third Wife had sacrificed herself. I was wowed when Jacob finished, looking up at me uncertainly—he had sat down on the sand.

"Well?" he asked. "I know I'm not as good as my dad at story-telling, but—"

"But you were amazing!" I squealed. "I can't believe I forgot about—about that!" I gasped, eyes widening.

He blushed. "Thanks, I guess."

"Thank you!" I exclaimed. Something inside of me was fresh; happy at hearing these legends that happened to be my history, sort of. "I mean, wow. . ."

"Yeah, I know, but do you believe in them?"

I hesitated. "Not really."

"Me either." he said. "I mean, men changing into wolves? Cold ones—vampires—existing?" He chuckled.

"I see your point," I said. But a part of me wondered. . . _What if _all those legends _did _happen?

Of course I didn't say that I slightly believed in them—what would Jake say? I'm a retard for thinking that something like that might of actually happened? I shuddered to think what he'd think of me. . . I mean, what did he think of me now? Was I in his good books, or bad books?

"It's getting late."

I nodded. "Yeah, it is." I sighed. My mind was preoccupied with the Third Wife, and how her husband had stopped aging just because he felt a strong connection for her. . . Strong love right there.

He took me home; which was very gentlemanly of him. I was blushing when we got to my door, and told him thank you and goodbye, and wished him a goodnight. He said no problem, bye, and wished me sweet dreams too.

My dreams, though, were not sweet.

Wolves were running behind me—quickly, but not quick enough to catch up to me—and blood was running down my face, obscuring my vision for a moment. I was screaming, terrified and also filled with vengeance; my insides were burning, and my whole body was on fire. It was like I was leading them somewhere gloomy that would end in their doom.

Everything around me was a blur suddenly, until darkness engulfed me whole.

Someone was screaming my name, and I screamed back, but no sound came out, except this long, loud sound that went unheard by me.

The scene changed, and I was kneeling in front of two beautiful women; their eyes were a ruby red. They were pale, and were smiling down at me sinisterly, before one of them slapped me across the face—_hard. _I felt the pain build in my face, and through squinted eyes, I saw wolves advance out of nowhere, and charge.

But it seemed like the wolves were loosing. A brown colored wolf went down, and stayed motionless on the ground.

I watched in horror as the silver wolf fought against one of the unscratched woman, while the other black colored wolf fought against the other. Both women pounced, and bit into the wolves' necks, making the wolves jerk to a stop, and their mouths opened wide to let out silent howls of pain.

A fire appeared out of nowhere, crackling. I watched in horror as the fire advanced at me—the fire was _alive._

It's cackling was loud.

_So loud_. . .

And then the fire enveloped me into brightness.

My eyes flew open.

The first thing I instantly noticed was that I was sweating, and my hair was a tangled mess. The second thing I noticed that my room's light was still on. And third. . . something was tapping on my window.

My muscles were locked in place, and I couldn't move even if I wanted to, because my dream—more like nightmare, was still replaying on my head. The agony at seeing the wolves going down stayed, and the terror at seeing something so horrible like that. . . wouldn't leave me.

_Tap._

I jumped up, startled. A small squeak escaped my lips, and my eyes shifted to my window.

Someone, or something, was out there.

Though I wasn't going to be stupid, and ask 'Who's there?' I think that's plain stupid when people in the movies do that. Like, what's the point?

_Tap._

"Go away. . ." I plead in a whisper.

But the tapping wouldn't stop.

I laid in bed, hoping for the best that the tapping was just a tree branch, and that I shouldn't worry. But the tapping continued, and I was absolutely scared; who would miss me? I found myself thinking. Who would want to kill me? Kidnap me?

And then a voice, a familiar voice hissed, "_Ana!_"

"Paul?" I whispered back, surprised, knowing he couldn't hear me.

Again, he surprised me by saying, "Yeah, it's me! Now _open your window!_"

Aghast, I stared at my window, which had a blue curtain. "Why?" He's freaky. How did he know where my room was? My curtains were plain—my parent's bedroom also had the same curtains. And, how could he hear me perfectly?

"Just do it!"

"No."

"Ana!" he groaned.

"Why should I?" I challenged.

"Because I came to apologize."

That shut me up.

"So?" he asked a little too loudly, making me squeak.

"Shut up! My family might wake up!" I hissed.

I imagined him rolling his eyes at me, and that smirk was hearable through his voice. "It's not like we're doing anything wrong. . . Or are we—soon?"

My face heated up. "_Hell no_!"

He chuckled, then stopped. "Open up."

"No."

"Please?"

"Ha, no."

He paused.

"Don't make me break in."

My eyes widened. "You wouldn't!" I gasped.

"Oh, I _would_," he said cockily.

I considered this. "Um. . ." I sighed. "Okay," I said, almost reluctant. But a burst of excitement rang through me; a boy—even if it was _Paul_—was entering my room in the middle of the night, like in the movies and books. I shakily got out of bed, the nightmare's play still going through my head, and walked towards my window.

Opening my window, I saw Paul leaning against a tree. I hesitated, before staring into his hazel eyes, and I felt myself being locked under his intense gaze. He marched over to me, and in no time, we were standing front to front, my house's wall separating us.

I said nothing. He said nothing.

My anger at him earlier on was still there, but the scare from my nightmare was blocking the anger.

Finally, he spoke, a little worried. "You look horrible."

Well, I told myself, at least he was being honest, but why the concern?

"I know," I grumbled, my eyes alert. Then I got serious. "Why are you here?" I demanded.

Paul was silent for a moment. He kept on observing my face, and suddenly, out of nowhere, he grabbed my chin lightly, and made me look up into his eyes again. I shifted my eyes uneasily, and tried to move back, but something prohibited me from doing so.

"What's wrong?" he asked softly, ignoring my question.

"Nothing," I said defensively.

"Don't lie."

"Is that an order?" I said, my would-to-be furious voice was weak.

He frowned. "No."

"Okay then. Don't order me around."

Paul rolled his eyes, and let go of my chin. The warmth of his fingers soon disappeared.

"Well?"

"Well nothing."

He clenched his jaws and closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. "You're not making this easy," he growled.

Something told me to cool down a bit, if I wanted to keep Paul controlled, of course. "Calm down," I said uneasily.

Paul screwed up his face, and was silent for a moment, until he reopened them and was staring at me. "Okay," he said calmly. "It's just that—that you don't make any of this easy, ya' know?"

I shrugged.

He closed his eyes again, and for the first time, I noticed how tired he was. "You should get some sleep. . ." I said casually.

His eyes flashed open. "I guess."

Silence.

"It's a bit cold, right?" he asked me. "So why don't we go inside your room, and—"

"No way!" I quickly protested.

"—then I'll leave when we're done talking." he finished, as if I hadn't said anything.

I frowned. "Don't—don't do anything stupid."

"I won't," he promised me. "Cross my heart."

I stepped aside to let him in. Once he was inside, I noticed how big he was, and how small my room was when he was inside. And, as if he owned the place, he strode over to my bed, and sat down, patting the spot beside him. I hesitated; should I, or no?

"C'mon, the quicker we get talking and get to the point, the quicker I leave," he said, though not sounding at all too pleased about it.

So, I sat beside him, and my arm brushed against his hot one. I cringed a bit, and sighed. "I don't like touching people," I said, without looking at him.

"That explains it," he grumbled.

"So," I said, "what do you want to talk about that needed to be said now?" Not that I wasn't grateful. Who knows how my dreams would have gone—much more dreadful, was my guess.

"Why was your light on?"

"I slept without noticing, I guess." I pointed to the book I was reading.

"Why do you look terrible?"

"Bad dream," I admitted.

"What about?" he asked, twisting his body to face me.

"Wolves," I whispered. "The cold ones. . ."

He stiffened beside me, but I didn't pay much attention to that.

"The wolves. . . they were dying—and before they were off into battle with these two beautiful cold ones, I was—I was _leading _them to their doom and gloom, Paul!" I said quickly. I was looking down at my joined hands with wide eyes. "I mean. . . how horrible am I? And then this fire sort of, wrapped around me—that's when I woke up."

Paul was quiet. Quite so suddenly, he put an arm around my shoulders and pulled me closer to him. "Must of been awful," he said softly.

I fidgeted a little. "It was."

"But it's all over," he reassured me in a whisper. "I'm here now—I won't let any Cold Ones get to you," he snarled, his shaking began.

"Paul," I said panicky, "calm down!" I hissed.

It took him a few minutes to calm down. "Sorry," he breathed heavily.

"Don't worry—"

"I'm sorry for everything I've said, okay?" he interrupted me, and began to thread his fingers through my tangled my hair. "I'm sorry for saying that Elena's better than you—she's not. I hate whores. I prefer timid, quiet girls with weird fetishes and who have a weird. . . a weird something—like you."

I was quiet.

He continued. "You just got me pissed off. What could I say, to make you believe me? You're just so damn stubborn, Ana!" he yelled-whispered. "I mean. . . And then something turned up, and I had to leave"—I noticed the growl in his voice when he said _something_—"and I told you to leave; go home! But you didn't."

Caught red handed, eh?

"You went to the ice cream shop, talked to Emily," he continued his stalking-tale. "Then you left, and Black met up with you"—he sounded upset—"and you both went to the beach. He and you talked, and he then took you home. You were smiling and blushing like an idiot." he said, not sounding too pleased.

I glowered at him.

"So you stalked me," I summed up.

He shrugged.

Damn him—he didn't even deny it!

"What do you see in him?" he suddenly asked.

I was uncomfortable now. "I—I don't know. . ."

Paul scowled. "But when I told you to go home—because there actually was something bad lurking around—you _didn't._" he said, trying to keep cool. "Why Ana? _Why not_?"_  
_

"I was mad at you," I said simply. "Still am. But I don't have enough energy to argue."

He chuckled. "So. . . am I forgiven?"

"No," I said truthfully. "You're going to have to _earn _your apology, Paul."

"Fine by me." He paused. "I was going to tell you something else. . . but I forgot."

"Tell me some other day," I said, yawning.

"I don't hate you." he said suddenly. "And you don't hate me. . .?"

"No," I said, half-smiling. "I just don't like you at times."

A smirk appeared. "But then that means you like me, eh?"

"_Paul!_" I groaned.

"What?"

"We were having a good talk."

"Yeah. So?"

I glared at him.

"We still are!" he protested.

I giggled a little. "Eh."

Sleepiness began to creep over me, and I closed my eyes briefly. "This day had been just so doomy and gloomy," I said, thinking of the Legends, and gloomy looking First Beach, then Paul's and I's argument earlier.

"Doom and gloom?" he asked bemusedly.

"Yeah. . ." I said. Then I remembered something unpleasant. "When you said Elena earlier. . . you also said the word _imprint_. You said something about wishing you hadn't imprinted on me?" Earlier, I had checked my body to see if he had left any marks on me—I mean, didn't imprint mean to leave a mark, or something? "What did you mean, by that?"

He stiffened again, and grunted. "I was talking bull crap, Ana. Just ignore any of my bull crap talk, okay?"

"So that means. . . I have to ignore what you say each time you talk?"

"Ha. Har. You're sexy, but not hilarious, Ana." he sighed. I made a noise in the back of my throat. "Me, on the other hand, am sexy _and _hilarious, and etcetera," he said, sounding smug.

"In your dreams." I snapped.

"Also in your's, eh?"

I sighed, too tired to argue anymore. I had noticed that Paul had avoided the subject of imprinting, but he did talk bull a lot, so what could I expect from him? But my curiosity to find out what he meant wouldn't leave—which meant that I was going to continue searching for my answer. I mean, what if imprinting—on his terms—meant joining me to his gang, or something? I'm not brave or anything, so what good use would I do this gang he imprinted me to?

Something told me he wasn't talking about imprinting me into a gang, though. . .

_But what the hell does he mean?_

I yawned loudly, out of nowhere. "Hey I'm going to sleep. . . night. . ."

"Goodnight, you fine lady," I heard paul whisper, yawning too.

All was quiet, and my dreams did turn out to be sweet in the end.

The silver wolf was running alongside me, looking lively and healthy. It was a nice dream. Perfect. Warm.

"ANA!" I woke up to find my mom screaming at me.

I was sweating, too, which was odd since my window was open. "Huh? Mum? What's wrong?"

"You have a boy in your bed!"

She's kidding. . . right? If she wasn't, then that meant that. . .

That ass hole stayed.

And he had me wrapped around his arms, close to him.

Oh crap.

"Mom, I can explain—"

"Don't! You finally got yourself a boyfriend, honey! By time, too. I hope you didn't do anything bad though. . ."

"_Mom_!" I squealed.

"What?" she asked innocently, then winked. "I'll leave you two alone. Nothing naughty, do you hear me?" And then she left quickly, giggling as she did.

"Well dang," said Paul's croaky voice from right beside my ear, "nothing naughty." he sounded disappointed.

"Shut up!"

"Ooh, I'm being dominated. I like that." I could hear his smirk.

I quickly began to get out of his arms. "Let—go—of—_me_!"

"No," he said coolly. "I like having someone gorgeous wrapped around my arms. Don't you feel flattered that this amazing hot God is hugging you? _And _sleeping in your bed?"

"No." My face was on fire.

"Sure you don't." he replied cockily, then yawned. "I slept good. What about you?"

"Horrible," I lied, making a face. "I'm sweaty, my hair is a mess, and then I find myself being wrapped around—"

"Ooh, we _were_ naughty." Paul taunted. "Oopsie."

My eyes widened. "Shut up! No we weren't!"

"In my dreams, we were." At my disgusted squeak, he went on, "I'm joking. Sheesh, can't you take a joke?"

"No."

He scoffed. "Why so serious?" he complained. "Well I gotta go and get ready." He got up, and finally let go of me. He walked over to my window, paused, turned around, and waved at me. "Bye, I guess," he said. "Thanks for. . . sharing your bed." He winked at my sour expression. "Oh liven up, Ana," he grumbled. "I'll see you later."

Then he exited out of my window.

Why couldn't he just be normal, like everyone else, and taken the damn door! But this was Paul I was talking about. . . so I couldn't expect much from him. I stared at the window for a moment, before shaking my head at his idiocy.

Paul was a mystery to me: I have no clue how he's going to act one second, or the other.

Guess I have to deal with him—he _is_, after all, Paul Lahote. Also known as the idiot, by me.

* * *

**A/N: _I'M SORRY! _I think I've said this last chapter? Or I have mentioned this, but see. . . my laptop's charger failed on me. No biggie, right? Yeah, I know, but I really don't have any money at the moment to buy a new one. . . And a lot of things have been going on around me, which has really made it hard to write. I honestly tried—my older brother is lending me his lap top :)—to write, but _it just wouldn't come_. I couldn't write, even if I did ended up reading my final draft. . . it was horrible.**

**Ana sounded _so _depressed and monotone. . . so urgh. I hated the way I had written her, so I erased chapter five, and began to re-write it for. . . I re-wrote 5. DOOM AND GLOOM six times—and I was getting frustrated and all -.- So, then I pulled myself up, and ended up with this decent final draft.**

**Hope you liked my final draft of 5. DOOM AND GLOOM? I want to hear all you guys' opinions; if you want me to change something or anything, I'll be fine with criticism too. I think that sorta helps me improve! :D Also, I don't know if this was good enough. . . but there will be drama on Ch. 6 NEW DIVIDE :) **

**So. . . hi? And sorry for not updating early! It's been a pain in the ass knowing I haven't updated for so long! Sorry for any mistakes, I will correct them as soon as I can :D**

**REVIEW!  
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